


Hero Material

by cosette141



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen, Henry spencer - Freeform, Hero material, Hurt/Comfort, Psych - Freeform, Shawn Whump, shawn spencer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosette141/pseuds/cosette141
Summary: Shawn never had a good relationship with his father, and when he learns the truth about his parents' divorce, Shawn doesn't know what to think of the man anymore. But when Shawn and Henry end up stumbling into real trouble, it's going to take a lot more than forgiveness to save them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! :)
> 
> So, I've got another story for you guys! This takes place right after Season 3, Episode 1 "Ghosts", right after Madeleine tells Shawn the truth about the divorce, and if you don't remember the exact ending of that episode, no worries! I've got you covered ;) Ever since I saw that episode, it drove me absolutely insane that they give Shawn this mind-blowing new information about his family... and then the next episodes they acted like it never happened...
> 
> Personally, I would have liked to see Shawn deal with this new information and all that, so here's my idea of how that could have gone. I have to admit I'm a little nervous about this story but I really hope you guys like it! And obviously it's a whumpage story so don't you worry, Shawn-whump fans. I've got you covered on that too. ;D
> 
> Alright, here we go!
> 
> ~cosette141

1995

Shawn ran down the stairs, his socked-feet slipping on the last one but he caught himself roughly on the railing. He followed the sound of his mother's footsteps, loud and echoing in the room with a sharpness that gave Shawn chills.

Shawn ran into the living room, panting as he watched his mother open the door. She had a suitcase in one hand and her purse on her arm, a passport held in her hand. Shawn gaped, standing in his faded jeans and baggy t-shirt, speechless.

She was actually leaving.

"M—Mom," stuttered Shawn as she turned back toward him sadly, her hand still on the doorknob. "Mom, please," he begged, shoulders dropping and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Please, don't go. Please—"

"Goose," she said softly, her eyes holding something, some sort of emotion that Shawn couldn't read. His heart hammered in his chest. "You know how your father and I have been," she whispered, shaking her head.

"I'll come with you then," said Shawn quickly, realizing that his desperation was leaking into his words but he didn't care. He knew his parents argued; all parents did, right? It was normal. Completely normal. No need to tear apart a family. Shawn knew his father; he knew that his mother deserved so much more than the man Henry was, but she couldn't… she couldn't  _leave_. Shawn turned back toward the stairs, clinging onto his spark of hope. "I'll just grab a few things and we can go wherever—"

Madeleine reached out a hand and grasped Shawn's arm, pulling him back as he started toward the stairs. He looked back at her, his heart ripping to shreds inside him as he watched her shake her head. "Your father and I had an agreement, Shawn… I have to go. I'm sorry, Goose."

"But— _Mom_ ," whispered Shawn, but before he could say another word, she let his arm go and walked through the door without another look back. Shawn watched the door shut, stumbling back a step, feeling numb. This wasn't supposed to happen. His parents weren't supposed to split up. He had a Trig test on Monday. He was going to watch Gus' tryout for the male cheerleaders tomorrow night.

His mother wasn't supposed to leave, right in front of his eyes.

Things weren't supposed to fall apart.

Shawn wanted to rip the door back open, he wanted to run outside and stop her. He could convince her to stay. He could convince her to take her with him. He could be there for her.

But he stood still.

Frozen.

He didn't know how long he stood, staring at that door, feeling a heaviness settle on him in the thick silence of the house. It was empty now.

Lifeless.

Somehow, Shawn managed to move his legs. He turned around, and looked up. Henry stood in the doorway to the living room, his eyes glued to the door, standing just as still, just as stricken as Shawn had been. Hot rage surged through Shawn's veins, and he jabbed a finger to the door. "What the hell happened?" he exclaimed, his voice thick with a mixture of anger and pain. "Mom… She can't… She wouldn't just…" Shawn looked back to the door, feeling pain fill the numbness in his chest. He shook his head, whipping back toward his father. "I thought you guys were talking, you—you guys had that therapist—"

Henry just shrugged, his eyes empty. "There's nothing I can do, Shawn."

"Nothing you can  _do_?" repeated Shawn, his voice building in anger. He felt a hot tear run down his cheek. "Of course there's something you can do! Go after her! Apologize for whatever you did and beg for her to forgive you! You owe her that much!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking, a second tear joining the first. "You owe  _me_  that much!"

Henry huffed out a livid breath and raised his eyes from the floor. "No, Shawn!" he yelled, his voice shaking the empty house, stopping any response that Shawn would have retorted with. "I am not going after her," growled Henry. He took a breath, shutting his eyes, then looked at Shawn again, his voice low. "It's over. Done."

Shawn stared at his father, each word hitting him like a fist in his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs. No. His father ruined his childhood, his future, his  _life_.

And now, his father was ruining his family.

"Kid," began Henry, but Shawn whipped his head up sharply, his eyes burning in fury.

"No." he snapped. "Don't call me that." Contempt dripped from each word. "You are  _not_ my father." snarled Shawn, the rage coursing through his veins. "Not anymore." He turned on his heel and walked to the door.

"Shawn—"

"We're done, Henry." said Shawn, opening the door, pausing with an arm on the doorframe, not turning around as he said, low and controlled, "I hate you."

And the door slammed shut, the echo jarring the empty room with a chilling sense of bitter cold finality.

* * *

Present Day

_"What happened?"_

_Shawn looked at his mother, as if he thought she was asking a stupid question. And, in a way, he felt as though she was. She knew what happened._

_And that's exactly what he told her now, as she sat next to him in the empty office at the police department. "With dad?" asked Shawn, drawing out the words. "We were both there. We don't need to revisit the past," he muttered, shaking his head at the mere thought of having to dive back into those memories._

_Madeleine didn't meet his eyes. "Maybe we do."_

_Shawn sighed in irritation, crossing his arms and leaning angrily back against the cushions of the couch. It wasn't comfortable, and there were no pillows in sight. "Well, I'm not sure I want to forgive him for what happened."_

_Madeleine cocked her head, and with a spurt of annoyance, Shawn recognized one of his mother's talk-therapy tricks as she pressed him, asking, "The divorce?"_

_Shawn sighed, straightening, giving up his reluctance as the emotions from that day came rushing back. "That wasn't what happened, Mom. It was the_ way  _that it happened. I mean, let's call it what it was." Fury darkened Shawn's eyes. "He left us. He left_ you _." Red-hot anger laced his voice as he bit off each word. "He ended up with the house and he left_ you  _to pick up the pieces." Shawn scoffed angrily, crossing his arms across his chest, averting his eyes. "That's not exactly what I call hero material, you know?"_

_It took his mother a few moments to speak, and Shawn was surprised to hear her voice soft when she said, "Shawn… I left him."_

_Not buying his mother's lie for a second, Shawn barked a laugh, and muttered, "Come on, Mom, you don't have to spin this for me, okay?" Shawn dropped his head into his hands, wishing he hadn't reopened the memories, feeling those emotions he pushed so far away rushing back to the surface._

_"Let me be clear."_

_Shawn lifted his head at the sudden firmness in his mother's voice. He was surprised to see the tears brimming in her eyes as she looked him dead in the eye. "Your father was wonderful to me. He wanted to keep going to counseling, he kept saying we could make it… but the writing was on the wall a long time."_

_Shawn shook his head, unsure if he didn't hear her correctly or…_

_He didn't want to._

_"You're losing me here, Mom," whispered Shawn, looking back at her._

_Madeleine shut her eyes, stopping her tears from falling. She shook her head and her gaze locked onto Shawn's. "When I got that job out of town, it was an incredible opportunity and I was afraid I would never have a chance again," she avoided his eyes, wringing her hands around each other, guilt written across her face. "So, I took it." She looked back at Shawn, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. Shawn was quiet. Still. "You were into your senior year," his mother said with a shrug. "Your path was set… it seemed like the right time, if… such a thing is possible." She looked at him sadly. "I thought, of all people, you would be okay." She shut her eyes. "And I am so sorry."_

_Shawn shook it off, not willing himself to believe a word of it. "Mom," he placed a hand on his mother's and gave her a smile. "You don't ever have to be sorry. About anything," he assured her, but she shook her head firmly._

_"Don't_ you  _spin this." she said with an underlying force that hit Shawn straight in the chest. Madeleine shook her head. "Sometimes I get the worst realizations." She looked at him. "I know…" she shut her eyes again. "I know that I failed you. But… I think, that day…" She opened her eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "My life… began again." Shawn dropped his mother's hand, feeling the wind rush out of his lungs. He watched that smile, that happiness in his mother's eyes, as she recalled one of the worst days of his life. Shawn felt that numbness, that same, frigid numbness he felt all those years ago, flood his veins—_

"Gonna sit in the car all day, Shawn?"

Shawn shook himself, tearing away from the memory. Gus was peering oddly at him, bending back into the Echo. Shawn realized Gus had stopped the car a while ago and Shawn still hadn't removed his seatbelt.

He slowly pulled himself out of the vehicle. He looked up and Gus was staring at him in concern. Shawn hated that look; he'd almost always preferred Gus' default disappointed glare than his concerned gaze. "Shawn…" said Gus uncertainly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Shawn shook himself again, trying to push away the emotions. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since he'd spoken to his mother. After she told him, he left the room, and went straight to the nearest bar. He wasn't lying to her when he said that he didn't want to revisit the past. The past was painful. That conversation with his mother in the station haunted him now, and Shawn could barely focus on anything else. And how could he? The very event that drove Shawn to leave Santa Barbara behind was a lie. He felt foolish, like his parents treated him as a child, sugar-coating the truth. And to know that Henry had lied, all this time, had let Shawn blame him for this for  _years_...

"Shawn... You're freaking me out."

Shawn blinked, looking back at his friend, realizing his hand was still resting on the handle of the passenger door. Shawn let it go and rubbed the back of his neck.  _Pull yourself together, man,_ he told himself firmly. "Nah, buddy, I'm fine. I'm just... tired." Shawn searched for a distraction, landing on something he was almost positive would deflect from him immediately. "It took a lot out of me to plan that case to get you your job back."

The concern washed straight out of Gus' face and Shawn was silently impressed with his own quick thinking. "That case?" Gus repeated. "You mean that prank you pulled on my boss, making him think his house was haunted?" Gus crossed his arms, staring daggers, telling Shawn that it was going to take far more than three days for Gus to forget about that one. " _That_ case?"

Shawn hid a smile, glad to have shifted the conversation away from himself. "That'd be the one." He walked around the car and headed to the door of the Psych office. Shawn stopped in front of the door, suddenly flashing back fifteen years as he stood, frozen, staring blankly at the door his mother left through. Back then, he'd blamed Henry for her leaving. But… leaving was  _her_ choice. Madeleine told Shawn that herself.

She  _chose_ to leave him.

"Don't you forget that you're the reason you even  _had_  to get my job back!" said Gus behind him irritably, snapping Shawn back to reality.

"That's it, buddy," said Shawn, shaking himself. "Let it all out." Shawn felt the exhaustion of staying awake for the better part of thirty hours weighing on him. He opened the door, not surprised to find it unlocked; he always forgot to lock it.

"Shawn—"

Shawn held up a hand to stop Gus' words as he heard something rustling in the office. Someone was inside. Shawn turned toward Gus and held a finger to his lips, noting the sudden fear in Gus' face—Gus heard it too. Shawn slowly eased himself through the doorway, following the sound of movement, feeling Gus at his back. Shawn reached down and grabbed the umbrella leaning beside the door. He held it high as he carefully walked into the office—

"Shawn, really? An umbrella?"

Shawn almost dropped the weapon. His face screwed up in confusion. "Dad?"

Henry stood up from Shawn's desk chair, giving Shawn a sarcastic grin. Shawn froze, hearing echoes replay in his head.

_"No, Shawn. I left her. It's over."_

_"I hate you."_

Shawn firmly shoved the emotions away, not wanting to deal with them. No, it was more than not  _wanting_ to.

He couldn't.

"Mr. Spencer?" asked Gus, coming up behind Shawn, holding—

"What kind of damage was that going to do?" asked Shawn, getting himself back under control, seeing Gus' own shoe in his hand. Gus pursed his lips and shoved the shoe back on his foot. Shawn tossed the umbrella, turning back to his father. He hadn't seen him since that night at the restaurant.

 _Shawn sat down across from his father, eyeing the man's suit and tie with disgust. "Look," said Shawn, "I'm just going to make this easier for the both of us, okay? I know_ exactly  _what you're up to and I'm not going to let it happen."_

_Henry's eyes narrowed. "Let what happen, Shawn?" His eyes mirrored Shawn's anger as he said, "Yeah, and if you don't mind my saying so, you've been a real jerk to me all week. I'm sorry I didn't tell you your mother was coming back into town, I'm sorry that you think I messed up your youth, I'm sorry that you think I screwed up your whole life." Henry leaned forward, eyes flashing with anger. "Get over it."_

_Shawn tensed at the words, shaking his head as he stood. "You had your chance," he said. "Leave her alone."_

Shawn tore from the flashback as Gus elbowed him in the ribs. "Jeez!" hissed Shawn, rubbing the new bruise that was bound to form. "That was too hard!"

"Then stop daydreaming, would you?" said Gus. "Your dad is talking to you."

Shawn looked back at Henry, kicking himself. He could barely  _function_. This wasn't like him; Shawn was almost always able to push any issue this heavy straight out of his mind, managing to cover it up with a joke.

So why couldn't he do that now?

Shawn shrugged. "What are you doing here, Dad?" asked Shawn, trying, again, to shake his inner battle.

"Look," said Henry, holding up a hand. "I know you're still pissed at me—"

"Is this all you came to do?" asked Shawn roughly, nowhere  _near_ wanting to talk about anything with his father right now. "Because Gus and I have some  _actual_ work to do—"

"As a matter of fact," growled Henry, irritated, "that's why I came. I want to… hire you."

Shawn gaped. That was the last thing he'd expected Henry to say. The last thing Shawn knew, his father thought his psychic detective business was an embarrassment. A joke. Since when did  _that_ change?

Blindsided, Shawn stammered, "Um—what?"

"Hire  _us_?" asked Gus incredulously, waving a finger between himself and Shawn, equally as shocked. "Me and him?"

"Yes," sighed Henry crossing his arms. He didn't look at either Shawn or Gus as he said, "One of my lodge buddies is nervous about a guy getting close to his wife. I thought you two could… look into it." Henry kept his gaze averted from theirs, as if  
he was handing over pride with his words.

Shawn merely laughed, his shock morphing into amusement. "A cheating boyfriends case? Really, Dad?"

"No, Shawn," said Henry, annoyed, and Shawn immediately knew he'd struck a nerve. "It's more than that. He thinks this guy is into some shady business."

Shawn shrugged and dropped into his desk chair. "Take it to the cops, then, I'm sure they'll look into it for you." He looked at Henry in mock-wonder. "Actually—aren't you trained in stalking, too? Why don't  _you_ follow the guy home?"

"Because," growled Henry, seeming to be holding onto the last of his patience, if he even had any to begin with. "He's seen my face and he'd recognize me.  _And_  I'm not a cop anymore." Henry sighed again. "It's one favor, Shawn."

Still not wanting any part in it, Shawn groaned, "Dad—"

"Shawn!" exclaimed Henry, frustrated. "I  _know_ that you're pissed, but can you just—"

"Get over it?" asked Shawn, heat prickling in him. He and Henry stared each other down. The tension from that night at the restaurant crawled back, thickening the air around them.

"We'll take the case," said Gus suddenly, and both Henry and Shawn looked at him.

"What?" snapped Shawn incredulously.

"Thank you, Gus," said Henry with a nod in Gus' direction. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the back door. "His name is James Hunt." And then he left, the door shutting behind him.

"What the hell was that, Gus?" exclaimed Shawn, feeling utterly betrayed. Gus almost always had his back when it came to arguments with his father.

"It's called  _revenge_ , Shawn," said Gus with a snicker. He dropped into his chair and leaned back contentedly. He grinned. "After this, we'll be even."

Shawn groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was a favor for his father. In fact, the only thing Shawn truly  _wanted_  to do was jump on his Norton and drive the hell away from Santa Barbara. Shawn sighed. He'd done that once before, and dare he admit it, running away didn't fix anything then and it wouldn't now.

Shawn looked over at Gus, who had turned to his computer monitor and began reading something off of it. Half of Shawn's mind screamed at him to tell Gus what he learned about his parents; Gus was Shawn's sounding board for every life issue he'd ever faced. Gus was  _there_ when Shawn's parents fought and he was there when they split up. Granted, Shawn left a year afterward, but he'd always known he'd have Gus here waiting for when—or  _if_ —he'd come home. Above all, Gus was the only person Shawn could truly talk to; Shawn could never talk to his father because… well, that was pretty self-explanatory. Even before the divorce, his mother was—Shawn didn't like to admit it—hardly ever around to listen; she'd always been busy with something else, some business trip whisking her away, some police station requiring her to do psych evaluations through the night. She just wasn't exactly… there. Shawn tried to think of other options, but he didn't have many. Shawn would never dream of dumping his personal problems on Juliet, and Shawn nearly laughed out loud at the thought of going to  _Lassiter_.

 _No,_ Shawn decided eventually, scoffing at the air. He didn't need to talk about this, much less  _think_ about it. He would just ignore it. It would go away. Shawn leaned back in his chair and picked up his squishy frog stress toy and squeezed it a few times. It would go away.

_It had to._


	2. Chapter 2

"Shawn, this is all kinds of illegal."

"Shh, buddy."

"Shawn!"

Shawn rolled his eyes, sparking irritation in Gus. Shawn led the way into the police station, lowering his voice as they started down the hallway. "It's not illegal, buddy," whispered Shawn, and Gus had to pick up his pace to keep up with his friend. Gus knew Shawn was rushing this case to get it over with as soon as possible, but he could at least allow Gus to keep up.

"It would be illegal if we were stealing the files," continued Shawn, "but we're only borrowing them."

"You're taking important documents from a police station!" hissed Gus. "It doesn't matter if you're planning on returning them, it's still called stealing."

Gus waited for Shawn's  _I've heard it both ways_ reply, but it never came. He glanced at his friend, wondering why Shawn had suddenly become so… un-Shawn. All day, Gus had been certain something was bothering Shawn—even before Henry threw this case at them—but it usually it only took Shawn a few hours to tell Gus whatever it was. But… this has been going on over twenty-four hours. Gus had the smallest idea it had to do with Shawn's mother—her sudden return to Santa Barbara had shaken up Shawn quite a bit, but the last time Gus had talked to Shawn about it, Shawn had said he was happy to see his mother. What changed?

Or… it could easily be something between Shawn and Henry.

_"I know that your pissed, Shawn—"_

Gus suddenly remembered the heated exchange between the two in the Psych office earlier that day. How had he not caught that beforehand? He'd been so focused on irritating Shawn with having to do his father a favor he hardly paid any attention to that argument. Usually all Shawn-Henry arguments went the same: Shawn did something stupid and Henry made sure he'd never forget it. Those kinds of arguments were the only things Gus could ever remember bothering Shawn as much as he seemed to be now. So… this must have been a Henry-induced conflict. Gus sighed.  _What else was new?_

Setting aside his concerns for now, Gus followed Shawn down the hallway. They were heading for a file room where they could find the name James Hunt. Henry didn't give them much to work with, so they needed some outside help. And neither Shawn nor Gus thought that the chief would approve of lending him anything for their own side business. Gus' eyes wandered around the station, feeling like at any moment someone was going to call them out on their plan. He ran his eyes over the empty desks—

"Shawn," hissed Gus suddenly, his eyes landing on one of the empty desks. He stopped cold.

Shawn turned and rolled his eyes. "Come on, Gus, it'll be over before you know it."

"No, Shawn," said Gus slowly, pointing toward the desk he was staring at. "I don't think we need to go find that file."

Shawn raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze, eyebrows raising in the same exact reaction Gus had. A cluttered, unoccupied desk sat four feet away from Gus displaying a bronze-plated name tag.

 _Officer James Hunt_.

"He's a  _cop_?" asked Shawn incredulously, walking over to stand next to Gus.

"Guess so," said Gus, looking at his friend, unsure of what to do. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"Shawn? Gus?"

Shawn and Gus whipped around. A little too fast. Juliet raised her eyebrow at their reactions, and she crossed her arms. "What are you two doing here?"

"Uh—came to see you," said Shawn with a forced version of his trademark grin. "How are you holding up, Jules?" He scanned the station with tired eyes, and Gus felt his concern returning. Shawn seemed exhausted. "How's old Lassie doing?"

Juliet's eyebrow hitched higher. "Fine," she said slowly, eyeing them both. "Vick doesn't have a case for you guys, you know," she said, and Shawn and Gus looked at each other, then let out a fake sigh.

"Aw, man," said Shawn with faux-disappointment, looking at Gus. "You were right, man, I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

"Told you," added Gus, playing along, but Juliet still eyed them suspiciously.

"Anything else, guys?" she asked, and Shawn hesitated. Gus suddenly caught what Shawn noticed: a man sat behind James Hunt's desk, and he was ninety-nine percent sure that meant that guy was James Hunt. The man was holding his arm against his side. Gus cocked his head, turning slightly toward Shawn, who was staring at the same thing. Shawn looked back toward Juliet, and Gus followed his gaze, tuning back into what Juliet was saying.

"—because we have a lot of work here, guys," Juliet was saying. "Things have been—"

"Uh—" said Shawn, tearing his gaze away from Hunt, who was now moving swiftly down the hallway. Shawn's eyes told Gus that his friend deduced something about Hunt that he himself didn't. "Nope, Jules, that'd be it. Gus and I will have to find some other way to entertain ourselves. Let's go, buddy."

Before Juliet could reply, Shawn turned with a smile and started heading after Hunt, through the station. Gus' concern returned, full-force. Juliet had just mentioned that the SBPD had cases, and Shawn hadn't even attempted to get Psych hired.

He hadn't even seemed to  _care_.

Gus quickly caught up with him and whispered, "What are we doing now?"

"Following Hunt," whispered Shawn, giving Buzz a fake smile and wave as they met eyes. Hunt was just approaching the door. They would be able to follow him straight to wherever he was—

"Spencer!"

Shawn stopped as Lassiter walked into their path, blocking Hunt from view. Gus watched Shawn grind his teeth, then say, "Lassie, what's up, man?" Shawn tried to go around the detective, but Lassiter grabbed him by the back of his jacket, pulling him back around. "What are you doing here, Spencer?"

"We were just leaving," supplied Gus, trying to see around the detective to keep an eye on Hunt, but the man must have already left through the doors. Damn.

Shawn tried to walk around Lassiter again, but he grabbed the back of Shawn's jacket and spun him back around and repeated, "Spencer, what the hell are you two doing here?"

"What, Lassie, sense a disturbance in the Force?" asked Shawn sarcastically. He gave Lassiter a tired grin and said, "Well, we're done here. Yeah, we know about your important case that we weren't invited to." Shawn tapped his head psychic-style and Gus watched Lassiter's eyes narrow further. "Sorry to bother you, Lassieface."

And Shawn walked around the detective before Lassiter could stop him a third time. Gus stared at his best friend's back, knowing for absolute certain that something was truly wrong with his friend; Shawn's wordplay was failing now, too. Whatever Shawn was dealing with must be serious. Gus followed as Shawn left the station, searching the parking lot for Hunt. Gus' eyes roamed the darkening parking lot, running over each car until he found the man.

"There," said Gus, pointing about twenty cars away from his Echo. Hunt was getting into a black sedan.

"Nice, buddy!" breathed Shawn as they ran down the steps to the Echo. They reached the small blue car and jumped in, Gus pulling out of the parking space a good twenty yards behind Hunt. He kept that cushion between the Blueberry and the sedan as they turned onto the road. He'd learned a lot about tailing and vice versa after he found out that Shawn "used Gus as tailing practice," as Shawn explained it. Or, as it was also known as, stalking. Because Gus had definitely heard  _that_  both ways.

"Careful," said Shawn, watching the sedan, squinting through the darkness of the fast-approaching dusk. "He's a cop, he'll probably be able to shake a tail."

The next five minutes went by slowly, with Shawn and Gus sitting in complete silence. Gus began watching the sedan, trying to remember what he'd studied online way back when Psych first started. After Shawn initiated Psych, Gus knew he was going to have to know about some new things, such as tailing a subject. Step one: license plate. Gus mentally took down the license plate: KAJ-2947. It took him a few mental repetitions to make certain he was going to remember it, but Gus suddenly shot a sidelong glance at Shawn. Without a doubt, Shawn would have memorized the car down to where it was starting to rust at the exhaust pipe within milliseconds. Gus felt that small twinge of jealousy; it was a jealousy Gus always had around Shawn. It wasn't fair; Gus worked hard, he was a determined, driven person, and after all of his hard work he's still just trying to make it by with his pharmaceuticals sales job. And yet Shawn just seems to sail through life, finding jobs on every corner, making friends every five minutes. More than that, Gus was an equal partner in Psych, and being a detective just didn't come to him half as naturally as it came to Shawn.

Gus glanced at Shawn again, watching his friend study the road ahead of them, wondering what exactly went through Shawn's head during moments like these. Cases. Gus saw the facts, he knew what was in front of him. But he didn't always know what it  _meant_.

Noting that the sedan took a right up ahead, Gus turned down the same street a few moments later. Pushing aside any thoughts of the case, Gus shifted uncomfortably against the silence in the car.  _Well_ , thought Gus, taking a breath,  _if he's not going to_   _come out and just say it_ …

"You doing okay, Shawn?" asked Gus tentatively, knowing he was going to get Shawn's  _I'm fine_  response that seemed to be the man's default answer.

Shawn blinked, looking at Gus confusedly, seeming to pull himself out of a daze. "Yeah, man, I'm fine."

 _Called it,_  sang a voice in Gus' head, and he mentally fist-bumped himself.

"Don't give me that," said Gus, giving Shawn a disappointed glance. "I've known you for twenty-five years, Shawn, I think I know when you're not fine." Gus looked over at Shawn again, trying to catalogue his expression in the faded light of the evening. Shawn effortlessly threw on his blank mask, but couldn't hide the tiredness in his eyes. Shawn shifted in his seat, seeming as if he wanted to say something but didn't quite know how.

"Why are you pissed at your dad?" supplied Gus, trying to give Shawn a starting point. He split his gaze between Shawn and the road, noting when Shawn bit his lip.

"I really don't want to get into this right now," whispered Shawn, and Gus raised an eyebrow. This was definite serious-Shawn.

"Are—are you sure?" asked Gus.

"It's just…" Shawn trailed off, grimacing, turning his head back out the window.

"Just what?" pressed Gus.

Shawn shut his eyes. "I know that my… relationship…" began Shawn, drawing out  _relationship_  unevenly, "with my dad isn't, well, good. But…" He rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you think he actually… hates me?"

 _Woah_. Gus stared. He had never been asked anything like this from Shawn.

Ever.

The closest Shawn had ever gotten to speaking seriously about his father with Gus—Shawn always complained about his father's parenting methods, but it wasn't heavy-conversational-material, like this—was when Shawn's mother moved out of his house during senior year. When Shawn told Gus about the divorce, that was the first time Gus had ever heard his best friend mention his father in this context. When Shawn had told Gus his father broke up his family.

Shawn seemed to sense Gus' discomfort—which really wasn't discomfort, it was shock, it just came off the same. Shawn opened his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, just forget I mentioned anything."

"Shawn," Gus managed, trying to find the words to say.

"Gus, he's stopping," said Shawn suddenly, and Gus looked up. The sedan pulled off the road, into the beaten parking lot of an apartment building. Gus kept driving, pulling into the next driveway, staying inconspicuous. He and Shawn watched in silence as Hunt got out the car, took the files and rushed to his apartment door. The apartment looked more like a motel layout, and Hunt fumbled with the doorknob, then quickly locked himself inside.

"Stay here."

Gus whipped around as the passenger door shut and Shawn disappeared. Gus squinted through the darkness, watching as Shawn crept through the parking lot to Hunt's apartment. "Damn it, Shawn," whispered Gus, hating whenever Shawn did anything this rash. Muscles tensing, Gus waited as Shawn knelt underneath the window beside Hunt's door and peered inside. He only seemed to look for a good fifteen seconds when he started to creep back to the car. Gus suddenly wondered how on earth Shawn could have gotten a good look in that short amount of time, but then he remembered: it was Shawn. Funny how often GUs forgot about Shawn's incredible memory. Though, for the amount of common things Shawn forgot about-Gus' birthday, locking the Psych door when he left, cleaning anything in his apartment, paying Gus back-Gus assumed it was pretty understandable to forget about his friend's supposed "perfect" memory.

"Well," said Shawn, climbing back into the passenger seat. "I don't know about him cheating on my dad's lodge buddy's wife," he said. "But the guy is pretty sketchy."

"What do you mean?" asked Gus, momentarily pushing aside the conversation regarding Henry.

"Well, I'm pretty sure good cops don't steal confidential files from police stations for a little light reading." At Gus' puzzled face, Shawn sighed and said, "He stuffed it in his jacket before he left the station." Gus nodded slowly, suddenly remembering Hunt holding something to his side. Shawn gestured back to the apartment. "Files were sitting on his table, but I couldn't see anything-it was closed." Shawn shook his head. "This definitely sounds sketchy."

Gus looked at him. "You're sure?"

"Well, depends on what was in those files. We'll bring it to the chief's attention tomorrow morning, but we have to tread lightly," said Shawn. "If we're accusing a cop we have to be sure."

Gus bit his lip, uncomfortable with serious-Shawn. "So… what now?"

"Tomorrow we'll go down to the station and I'll have a vision of this apartment," said Shawn, gesturing to the door Hunt went through. "If they find the files, then the cops will take it from there."

"Okay," said Gus, nodding. Shawn turned back to the window, falling back into his silence as Gus pulled back onto the road. Gus wracked his brain, trying to find something to say to his friend. "Shawn—" he began solemnly, but Shawn just yawned.

"I'm really beat, buddy," he said quietly, keeping his gaze out the window. "Mind dropping me off at my place?"

Gus sighed. "Okay. I'll pick you up at your place tomorrow at nine to go to the station, then."

Shawn gave him the ghost of a smile. "Thanks, buddy."

Gus nodded, turning down another street.  _He'll tell me when he's ready_ , he told himself. But, if this was anything like last time, Gus may have to wait another ten years for that to happen.

* * *

Shawn looked over his shoulder.

Again.

It had been a while since Shawn had been paranoid. That wasn't usually his style; Shawn was a trusting, free-spirited person who didn't give a care in the world, ninety-nine percent of the time.

But this is where that one percent came in.

The road was empty. Just as empty as it had been the last time he turned to throw a look over his shoulder. And the time before that. Shawn took the next turn a little sharper, feeling the wind ripple his shirt and he gripped the bars on his Norton a little tighter. He could almost feel the hair rise on the back of his neck. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. But… that was just the paranoia. Everything was probably fine.

No one was following him.

Besides, the only sounds filling the air were the hum of the motorcycle engine and his own quick heartbeat inside his head. He was alone on the road, splitting his gaze between the pavement and the moonlit ocean to his right.

Shawn shook himself; there was a very real reason to be paranoid right now. He was driving to his father's house to give him the update on the Henry's favor. The very thought of having to see the man gave Shawn a twinge of heat in his veins. Shawn doubted he could get away with a short, thirty-second long chat.

That was too easy.

But he wanted to get this whole ordeal over with so he could go back to ignoring the man for perhaps another decade or two, maybe longer. Because that's all he felt like doing.

Sighing at the familiar street looming ahead of him, Shawn cut down his speed, driving slowly down the pavement toward his childhood home, putting off his meeting as much as humanly possible. But, he eventually arrived at the house and reluctantly drove up the driveway. Shawn dismounted his bike, removed his helmet and shook out his hair in the darkness of the night. He walked up to the door in slow steps, trying to think of the fastest way to say what he had to say.

After another moment, Shawn sighed and knocked on the door. He heard rustling in the house followed by footsteps. Only a few seconds later, the door opened.

"Shawn," said Henry, eyebrows raised in a question. There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that Henry usually used when greeting his son. It was definitely present now.

"Hey, Dad," said Shawn shortly, adjusting his bike helmet in the the crook of his arm uncomfortably. Several emotions bubbled to the surface within him, but Shawn fought them all until he felt a numb nothing. He liked it that way. He honestly didn't know what he was feeling.

It was usually better that way.

"What's up, Shawn?" asked Henry tiredly, leaning against the doorframe in one of his wrinkled Hawaiian shirts. The colors were more faded on this shirt; a toned-down color explosion. It still didn't look good. Henry crossed his arms.

"Found the guy," said Shawn bluntly. "James Hunt."

Henry stepped aside and Shawn let himself inside the dimly lit house. Shawn couldn't help suddenly diving back in time, standing right where he stood now, begging his mother to stay. Demanding his father to fix this.

_"She can't just leave!"_

_"There's nothing I can do, Shawn."_

"And?" asked Henry, crossing his arms, pulling Shawn out of the memory.

"Uh—" began Shawn, trying to remember what he was going to say. Oh, right, he thought, James Hunt. "The guy's a cop."

If Shawn had expected his father to be surprised by this information, he was sorely mistaken. Henry simply waved a hand at it. "Yeah, I know. What did you find out about him?"

Shawn stared at him. "Uh—what?"

"I—my friend thought this guy was a scumbag," explained Henry. "Into something shady. What did you find out?"

"Not much, Dad," said Shawn honestly. "He lives in this sketchy apartment building on Wester Avenue, and he did have some scumbag tendencies. I think he's stealing classified files, but I couldn't get a good look at them—"

"Damn it," growled Henry, with a sudden anger that Shawn didn't understand. He slammed a hand down on the drinks bar beside the front door, knocking an open beer bottle to the ground. "I knew that Hunt was bad news, I knew it."

Shawn jumped back to avoid getting covered in spilt beer. Completely puzzled, Shawn looked incredulously at his father. "Dad! What the hell?"

"That son of a bitch—" growled Henry angrily, seeming to have forgotten Shawn was even there.

"Dad!" Shawn exclaimed. "What the hell does this guy even mean to you?" What did his father care that about a shady cop his lodge buddy knew? "That lodge buddy can't be this good of a friend to you." said Shawn. "Actually, up until this point I didn't even know you had friends—"

"Damn it, Shawn," growled Henry, glaring at his son. "Not everything is a joke—"

"Dad, this Hunt guy has nothing to do with—"

"He's dating your mother!" exclaimed Henry, and Shawn gaped. Tense silence stretched between them as Henry and Shawn stared at each other.

"He's  _what_?" asked Shawn eventually.

Henry sighed, dropping into one of the stools. "James Hunt. He met your mother this week when she started doing psych evaluations at the SBPD. I went to meet your mother after one of her sessions but she said she was going out to dinner with the guy. I had a bad vibe about him," said Henry, shrugging. "I wasn't going to let him pull one over on her. I wanted—"

"And you dragged me and Gus into this?" exclaimed Shawn, running a hand over his face, that heat prickling underneath his skin again. "God, Dad, that's… that's pathetic."

"Hey!" yelled Henry furiously, standing roughly up from the stool, Shawn obviously having struck a nerve. He glowered at his son. "Watch it!"

Shawn laughed. "Seriously? Am I fifteen again?" He shook his head, anger burning steadily in his veins. "I'm sure you'll get over it."

"What is wrong with you lately, Shawn?" demanded Henry.

"Me?!" exclaimed Shawn, feeling that rage build within him. He felt like something thin suddenly snapped within him, letting loose each and every emotion he'd forbidden himself to feel for days. He was flashing back those all those years once again. "You  _lied_  to me, Dad!" growled Shawn, anger dripping from each word. "Do you have any idea how much that screwed me up?" he demanded, blind anger coursing through him.

Henry sighed exasperatedly. "Shawn, relax. It was a simple lie! I knew you wouldn't have scouted this Hunt guy if you knew why I really wanted you to—"

"Of course not," snapped Shawn. "It's always about you, isn't it?"

_"No, Shawn. I left her. It's over. Done."_

_"We both know what happened. He left us. He left you."_

_"Shawn… I left him."_

Shawn shook his head, growling, "Damn it, Dad, that wasn't something you could lie to me about!" He tried to fight the emotion but it just kept coming, forcing words out of his own mouth. "I—"

"Get over yourself, kid," snapped Henry, the words so sharp and heavy they hung loudly in the air.

The anger ceased instantaneously in Shawn's veins. He glared at his father as he stood exactly where he stood fifteen years ago, and he felt the same thing he felt that day. It wasn't anger.

It was hate.

Shawn took a slow breath and tightened his grip on his helmet, raising his eyes to his father, speaking in a low, controlled voice. "I can see why Mom left you."

Shawn didn't wait to see his father's reaction to his words. He didn't hear whether Henry stormed away from him or followed behind him. Shawn just grabbed the door handle and opened the door, slamming it shut loudly and firmly behind him. He stood for a moment, standing in the darkness of the night, feeling that numb hatred sweeping through him.

Shawn shut his eyes. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to get out of here and go home.

Walking off the porch steps, Shawn headed down the driveway to his bike, ready to pull on his helmet.

And that's when he heard it.

It was barely a sound. It was the faintest whisper of movement. Shawn turned his head toward Henry's door, but the door hadn't opened.

Nothing in the house had moved.

Though the sound was faint, it was nothing compared to the rapid beating of his heart in his head and the distinct chill of paranoia at the back of his neck. He froze, listening intently, as the disjointed noises behind him formed coherent sounds.

Footsteps.

Before Shawn could react, something strong and firm grabbed him around the waist and pulled him backward. The motorcycle helmet fell from his grasp and hit the pavement with a  _thud_. Shawn's cry cut abruptly as a hand clamped firmly over his mouth and he groaned through the fingers. He kicked out but was lifted off the ground and pulled backward off the driveway.  _Dad_ … Shawn thought helplessly as he was roughly pulled away from his childhood home, feeling exhaustion wash through him. It was only then that he realized it wasn't just a hand clamped over his mouth.

It was a rag.

Shawn felt his eyes struggle to stay open and his body lose the fight as the drugs took effect. He slumped against the man holding him, vaguely feeling himself being thrown. He barely registered hitting the floor of the van as consciousness slipped quickly and quietly away.


	3. Chapter 3

1995

_"_ _Henry…"_

_Henry looked up. He was donned in his police uniform, sitting at his kitchen table reading the paper. This was his morning routine; get up, dress, wake up Shawn—even though Shawn never actually got up until Madeleine knocked on his door—and sit at the table with breakfast and the paper. He was a police officer. A crime-fighter, really. A hero, even, though that was the last thing anyone in this house would call him._

_He was halfway through reading about a bank robbery—a case that he himself was working on—when he looked up at the sound of his name. He hadn't even noticed Madeleine had come into the room, but there she was, sitting across from him at the table with a sad expression that matched the way she said his name._

_Henry sat up, the newspaper dropping to the floor. "Maddie, what's wrong?" he asked, already knowing all too well it must have been his fault. He quickly ran through the past week, through all the couples therapy they'd gone through, trying to find where he'd screwed up, where he'd said the wrong thing._

_"Henry…" Maddie repeated, dropping her eyes and shaking her head. She took a breath. "I... got a job."_

_"A job?" he echoed. The tiny soar of excitement that rose within him at her potential happiness was quickly deflated when she nodded but kept her eyes on the floor. Henry hesitated, then asked, "What kind of job?"_

_Madeleine paused before she said, "It's a good opportunity." She hesitated. "A really good opportunity, but…"_

_Henry knew that 'but.'_

_"Where is it." asked Henry, so quietly he didn't even know if he spoke the words._

_Madeleine didn't look at him. "Out of town."_

_Henry paused for a long time. Months of therapy. Hours of arguing. Tense silence that seemed to last years. And yet…_

_Henry never thought she would actually leave him._

_He shifted in his seat, and cast a look toward the stairs, making sure that his son wasn't listening in. The coast clear, Henry leaned toward her and gently took her hands. "Maddie, if this is about me—"_

_"Henry," said Maddie, and with the look in her eyes, Henry realized he'd said the wrong thing._

_Again._

_"_ _You can have the house." said Henry immediately. "The house. The furniture. I don't care," he said, his voice close to begging. "I still love you, Maddie, I—"_

_"_ _Henry!" Maddie shut her eyes, her expression drawn into something terrifyingly close to a glare. Henry felt his heart freeze in his chest, grounding him to the floor as Maddie said, "I'm sorry."_

_Henry felt something ice cold settle in his chest. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't lose her. She was the part of that kept him sane from his life as a cop. She was his first love—his only love. Henry shut his eyes. Every part of him screamed at him to beg, to plead, to tell her how much he needed her…_

_But there was nothing that he hadn't already said._

_There was nothing he could do._

_Henry swallowed hard, opening his eyes. "Okay." He nodded to himself. He met her eyes, those beautiful eyes he fell in love with. "I know you want to leave." He hesitated, the words bitter in his mouth. "But you want to leave me, Maddie." Henry dropped his voice to a whisper. "Not him."_

_Maddie shifted her eyes toward the staircase, then back down at the table again, and her voice grew a fraction firmer and she stood. "I've made my decision, Henry—"_

_Henry stood, feeling tears sting his eyes. "Maddie… please."_

_She and Henry stood in silence for a moment. Henry searched her blue eyes, trying to find the woman who fell in love with him. Madeleine looked away and walked past him. Before she left the room, Henry shut his eyes and whispered, "Please don't leave him."_

_He heard her footsteps hesitate, and for that sliver of a moment, Henry thought he might have gotten through to her. He opened his eyes and turned around._

_But she was already gone._

* * *

Henry laid his head on the wall, letting the coldness of the hardwood soothe his growing headache. He hated fighting with Shawn. But, more than that...

He hated when Shawn ran away.

Henry laughed humorlessly. Everyone he's ever loved had only ever tried to get away from him. Because the day Maddie left him marked the day Shawn left him, too. Sure, Shawn lived in the same house for a few more months after that day, but he'd left emotionally long before his graduation. Before Henry knew it, Shawn had packed what little things he needed to live on, and drove away on that damn machine that he considered transportation. Shawn didn't say goodbye. He just left and never came back. As those years went by, Henry assumed he'd never see Shawn again.

But then he did.

"… _Hi, Dad."_

_Henry kept a hand clamped on the door, staring at his visitor in shock. Shawn stood on his porch, motorcycle helmet in one hand, nervousness in his eyes. Henry felt his jaw drop and he quickly closed it, trying to pull himself out of the trance. He hadn't seen Shawn in ten years. Henry briefly took in his appearance; he looked good, if not a little bit on the thinner side, and maybe a little rugged. His jacket was ripped and beaten, and Henry remembered it clearly. Shawn had been wearing that jacket the days before he even left. It was much more dirty and worn now, though. Shawn's face matured a bit over the years and he had a bit of a stubble. But despite the slight changes in appearance…_

_Shawn looked like the same kid Henry remembered._

_Henry swallowed, releasing his tight hold on the door and composed himself. "Shawn."_

_Shawn bit his lip, looking briefly around the porch. Henry knew that Shawn caught the small changes; someone with an eidetic memory would most definitely catch the new doorbell beside the door that Henry had installed six years ago, and the slightly different coat of paint on the door frame he'd done the summer after Shawn took off. Shawn looked back at Henry, seeming just as uncomfortable as Henry felt. "You didn't tell me you moved back."_

_Henry raised an eyebrow slightly, holding onto his hard expression to hide his surprise. Why would Shawn want to know what Henry was doing? What did he care? The last thing Henry knew, Shawn wanted nothing to do with him. The last thing Henry knew…_

_Shawn hated him._

" _You didn't tell me you moved away," countered Henry, watching Shawn carefully. That contempt Henry remembered spread slowly across Shawn's features._

" _Yeah," said Shawn eventually, "I was busy trying to help my mom through her divorce."_

_Henry nodded, trying to ignore the sting of the words. He shut his eyes for a moment and shoved back the emotion, just like he always did. "Yeah, it's nice to see you too, son."_

Henry blinked his eyes back open and sighed heavily. The day Shawn came home changed things. Sure, Henry had a cleaner attic and cooperating gutters now that he had Shawn to help him. But… he was finally starting to have a  _relationship_ with Shawn.

At least until this.

His recent argument with Shawn echoed in Henry's mind. Henry stared at the door, suddenly wondering how Shawn knew. How did Shawn know that Madeleine left him? As far as Henry knew, Shawn was under the impression that Henry was the bad guy.

Had Shawn known all along?

Henry rubbed the back of his neck. That still wouldn't explain why Shawn was so angry about it now. Something happened recently to bring that to light. But what?

 _Oh_. Henry straightened. That had to be it. Madeleine had come back to the town for the first time in years. That was when Shawn had started this new wave of anger toward him.

It must have been Madeleine.

Madeleine's return to Santa Barbara hadn't only blindsided Shawn; Henry hadn't seen Madeleine in years, either. Some foolish part of him thought that maybe he had a chance with her this time. Maybe if he showed her that he'd changed… maybe she could fall back in love with him.

" _I can see why she left you_."

Henry sighed aloud as Shawn's words came back to him again. Henry shut his eyes. Above anything Shawn had ever said to him, none of them had been more painful to hear than that. The day Maddie left him was a knife twisted in his chest. To know that the woman he loved with all of his heart just didn't love him back.

Well, that may have been the second most painful thing Shawn had ever told him. Henry's eyes opened and crept back to the door, seeing a seventeen-year-old Shawn tell him the three words that haunted his dreams for months after Shawn left.

" _I hate you_."

The very memory of that day sent a chill running underneath his skin, making him suppress a shiver. Somehow the house felt colder. Henry just couldn't seem to shake the look in Shawn's eyes tonight, the look of pure  _hatred_ that Henry had only seen from him once before.

And now again tonight.

Henry rubbed his face, despising every emotion that rushed to the surface. He didn't like emotions—he didn't like to deal with them. He ignored emotions, and they usually just…

Went away.

So, he'll ignore them. He'll turn around, walk into the kitchen and get a beer—or something much, much stronger—and these feelings will just go away.

 _They had to_.

That's when he heard it.

Henry froze mid-turn, and looked back toward the door, heart soaring in hope that Shawn had come back.

But the door was still closed. Henry raised an eyebrow, suddenly alert. He definitely heard something. As he walked toward the window, he heard something else.

Something that sounded far too much like his son's voice.

Henry ran to the window, shoved aside the curtain and squinted to see through the darkness outside. Through the dim light, he could make out the figure of Shawn's deathtrap sitting upright on his driveway, and Shawn's helmet rolling into the grass. Henry raised his eyes and gasped.

Shawn was standing on the driveway, but he wasn't alone. Someone was standing behind him, with an arm wrapped across Shawn's chest, pinning Shawn to him. Shawn struggled against the man, grasping at the arm, but something was suddenly pressed against Shawn's face. His struggling grew slower and he was dragged backward.

" _Shawn_ ," breathed Henry. His eyes zeroed in on the darkened figure dragging him back, and Henry's heart dropped low in his chest.

It was James Hunt.

 _Damn it._ Henry tore himself out of his shock and dove for the door, ripping it away from the frame. He ran down the steps, only to see an empty driveway and a van hurdling down the street.

Thinking quickly, Henry sprinted to his truck with a speed he forgot he had and he pulled himself in. He tore out of the driveway and started after the van. His heart beat furiously in his chest, and he gripped the wheel so tightly it hurt.

_James Hunt._

Henry growled aloud, slamming a hand on the steering wheel in fury. The day he saw Hunt with Maddie in the station, he hated the vibe the man gave off. He thought the man was trouble, not  _dangerous_. Yes, maybe Henry—as the  _ex_ -husband—should stay out of Madeleine's affairs, but… He still loved her. He still felt the need to protect her. But Henry wasn't a detective anymore, Shawn was. Asking Shawn to check him out was a favor.

A favor that just took a major turn for the worst.

_Thirty yard cushion._

Henry huffed out a breath, slowing his truck, faint pieces of police tailing procedure coming back to him. He squinted seeing the van take a left turn ahead. He hung back, knowing full well that being seen by Hunt wouldn't do Shawn any favors.

The van was black, harder to see in the darkness. There was a license plate on the back left bumper, but it was so caked with mud it was impossible to read. The van had a dent on the same bumper, as if some other vehicle had run into it. It looked recent.

Henry sighed again, focusing on those details. Focus only on the details. That's what he always taught his son.

His son, who he'd just thrown headfirst into trouble.

Henry set his jaw, refusing to let his mind go there. He could kick himself later. Right now, he needed to get his son back and beat his kidnapper into the ground.

Henry didn't know how long he followed the van until he took a left turn after it, squinting through the darkness. His heart stuttered in his chest; the van disappeared. Whipping his head back and forth, Henry scanned the empty street, only seeing the faded lines on the street vaguely reflecting the dim street lights. Henry started to turn away, when he noticed something that made him slam on the brakes.

Under the light of one of the street lamps, a patch of grass had been flattened. Tracks. They led off the street, down a gravel road.

Without hesitation, Henry turned down the gravel driveway. It was a small observation, easily not even related to Hunt's van. But from a very early time in Henry's detective career, he learned to trust his instincts and let his gut direct him. So, that's what he did.

And he prayed that he was right.

Henry followed the road, catching more off-road tracks of flattened grass—no-doubt left by a careless kidnapper—until he spotted the van. His heart froze in his chest and he silently parked the truck a ways off the gravel road, between a few of the trees along the makeshift driveway.

Eyes glued to the vehicle, Henry grasped the door handle, ready to get out and pound the bastard into the ground. He hesitated briefly, looking around his truck. He didn't have a gun. Henry kicked himself; he had a gun in the closet in his bedroom. He should have brought it with him. Though… If he had gone to grab it, he would never have been able to follow them. But what good is finding Shawn if he can't save him?

 _Damn it,_ Henry scolded himself.  _Get out of your head and find a weapon._ The only things that were even  _in_ his truck were: an umbrella that he didn't remember buying, an empty box of tissues, an old to-go cup of coffee and a baseball cap.

Nothing that he could use against a gun.

Sighing sharply, Henry grabbed the umbrella and kicked open his door. He shut it silently, ensuring the crisp silence of the night. Sure, Hunt may have a gun, but Henry had an advantage, too.

Hunt didn't know he had been followed.

Henry crept across the ground, the gravel crunching subtly underneath his sneakers. He held the umbrella tight in his right hand, feeling his heart thud painfully hard in his chest. His eyes scanned the darkness as he approached the van. The wind blew a chill into the air and Henry suppressed a shiver. Walking up to the side of the van, Henry held his breath as the metal wall of black loomed ahead of him. If Shawn and Hunt were inside, there was only a slim chance Henry could win a fight against the younger officer. Henry hadn't fought anyone in fifteen years. And even when he was on the force, things didn't usually get physical. There was no doubt this man could take Henry. Though…

Henry had anger on his side.

Henry listened intently as he reached the van, pressing his back to the cold metal, gripping the umbrella in his hands like a lifeline. He slid his back across the side of the van, waiting to hear voices, feel movement. He reached the end and swallowed hard, slowly peering around the back.

Coast clear, Henry cautiously grabbed the back door handle, and yanked it open.

But the van was empty.


	4. Chapter 4

"—do with him?"

Shawn stirred; his mind was several miles beneath reality, his thoughts coming to him as if through mud.

"—kill him?"

Those words seemed to shatter his drug-induced haze, and Shawn's eyes shot open. His blurry vision slowly pieced together and he tried to think through the exhaustion. He squinted as he scanned the room he was in; it was dimly lit and small. Boxes littered the floor, but his vision was still to hazy to read what was on them. He quickly realized he was sitting up, and from the cool metal at his back, he was in a chair. He shifted and his wrists burned; something was binding them together.

What  _happened_?

"—hell were you thinking bringing this dead weight here?"

Shawn flinched at the voices and lifted his head, finding two men standing in front of him. He cringed as the movement aggravated his pounding head and he shut his eyes again, unconsciousness seeming like a blissful escape.

"Hey, sleeping beauty's awake."

Shawn felt a sharp strike to his abdomen and his eyes shot open. He gasped; the wind was knocked straight out of his lungs. Suddenly, the cold metal of a gun pressed to his forehead. Shawn froze, slowly shifting his gaze back up, heart pounding almost as hard as his head. He breathed hard, catching his breath as he briefly examined the men before him. His heart suddenly froze in his chest; James Hunt stood in front of him.

Memories hit Shawn almost immediately.

He'd been standing on his father's driveway and he'd been grabbed from behind. Shawn squinted; why had he been at his father's?

 _Right_ , thought Shawn as darkness crept into his eyes, erasing all fear, ignoring the gun and two men glaring down at him.

 _Henry_.

Shawn shoved the echoes of the argument away and shut his eyes; he couldn't remember anything after he was grabbed.  _Drugs_ , he realized vaguely. That would explain the headache and memory loss.

Shawn opened his eyes and looked at the man standing next to Hunt, and his heart dropped even lower. His mind rewinded backward mere hours, back to the police station with Gus. When Juliet had been telling them about the big case the SBPD had, she'd been holding the file in her hands and Shawn had gotten a glimpse of their suspect.

The suspect who was now standing in front of him.

He shut his eyes again, exhaustion making it hard to keep them open. Heart thudding in his chest, he tried to remember what the case was about. He'd been so preoccupied with his father and his parents' divorce that he'd barely been paying attention. Shawn's eyes suddenly narrowed.

" _Watch it!"_

" _What, am I fifteen again?"_

" _Shawn, it was a simple lie, just—"_

" _Get over it?"_

Shawn shut his eyes as the echoes crept back to him and rage burned in his veins. That was classic Henry, spewing out lies and half-truths to get what he wanted, never caring about how it hurt anyone else. Twisting the divorce to fit his needs and his needs only. Shawn had always known his father was selfish, but this was a new level. He'd fed Shawn this lie for years and never thought of what it would do to his son. Never thought of how much it could hurt him.

Sharp pain tore Shawn from his thoughts. His head whipped to the side from the force of the gun connecting with his temple. Shawn cried out, then clamped his mouth shut, tasting blood. He grimaced, cracking his eyes open.

"I asked you a question," growled the man. Shawn squinted, feeling another memory from the police station come back to him; this man was an arms dealer. The man was dressed in a business suit, and had been nicknamed  _Al Capone_  by the SBPD for his success in crime without getting caught. Shawn concentrated, thankful for his eidetic memory. He pictured the file, seeing the words as if the file was in front of his face right now. The file had mentioned how Capone always seemed to be a step ahead of the police. Shawn opened his eyes, looking at the men.

Having a cop in his pocket would definitely keep him ahead of the game.

"Huh," said Shawn, still feeling a bit dazed from the pain. He looked at Hunt, thinking back to what Henry had said about him. "You really are a bastard," said Shawn, almost matter-of-factly. Shawn had always hated when Henry was right. More than that, Shawn hated  _admitting_  that Henry had been right. But, even after retirement, his father managed to smoke out a dirty cop. Not for the first time, Henry was right, and Shawn was dealing with the consequences.

"Shut up," hissed Capone, shoving the gun under Shawn's chin, forcing his head back. Shawn cringed, but held onto his composure. It wasn't hard to keep his stone expression; for the past few days he'd only felt numb. The anger was still stewing somewhere inside of him but he tried to ignore it. As much thrill as cases gave him, as exciting as danger was to him...

This was the last thing he needed tonight.

"As much fun as this is," said Shawn, with difficulty as the gun pressed harder underneath his jaw. "This really—isn't a good time for me."

"I don't give a rat's ass," snarled the man. "You're going to tell me who you are," he said, with another shove of the gun, and Shawn flinched as it nearly choked him. His heart thudded in his chest and he blinked, trying to hold onto his calm. "And what you know about my partner and I, here."

"Actually," said Shawn, temporarily ignoring the gun under his chin as he channelled his inner-Gus, "It would be 'my partner and  _me'_ —"

The gun pressed harder and the man cocked it, freezing Shawn's heart in his chest. "Answer the question, smart ass."

"Uh—" began Shawn, the gun making it hard to speak. "Look, man, I don't—"

"We saw you tonight!" he growled, almost crushing Shawn's windpipe with the weapon. He pulled away the gun and Shawn relaxed, breathing hard, glaring at the man as Capone growled, "You were outside the apartment."

The apartment. Shawn had checked out Hunt's apartment, looking for the files, but hadn't seen anything inside the folder. How had Shawn missed that Hunt hadn't been alone in the apartment? Shawn kicked himself being so distracted. He'd been so focused on Henry that he let himself get careless.

"Okay," said Shawn, briefly tugging at the restraints binding his wrists. They didn't budge and Shawn tried hide a cringe as the rope bit into his skin. "Fine," he said, choosing his words, wondering which ones would get him killed. "I was at the apartment," he said slowly. "But I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, so I packed up and left." He looked from Capone to Hunt and shrugged. "I mean, those curtains don't go with that futon, but—"

He almost expected the fist when it landed in his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him for a second time.

"How did you find us?" Capone demanded.

Shawn coughed, trying to catch his breath. "I'm… psychic…" he whispered, not even sure if it was a good route to take with these people.

"Psychic?" repeated Hunt, and Shawn watched realization set in his eyes. "Damn it," he hissed, angrily running a hand through his hair.

"What?" demanded Capone, and Hunt stopped and jabbed a finger at Shawn.

"I knew I recognized him," growled Hunt, eyes narrowing at Shawn. "You're Shawn Spencer," he spat, biting off each syllable, and Shawn flinched at the sound of his own name. His heart tripled in his chest as Hunt told his friend, "He's a psychic. He helps the SBPD with cases. He's this annoying, irritating—"

"He's a cop?" exclaimed Capone, whipping around and glaring at Hunt and dropping his voice dangerously. "I thought you assured me that no one would know about this arrangement."

Hunt only narrowed his eyes. "They won't," he said quickly. He jabbed his finger at Shawn again. "If he told them anything, we'd already be behind bars. I've ensured that they know nothing about this place or you. I told you that if the therapist wasn't a problem, then—"

Shawn straightened and his heart dropped low in his chest.

" _He's a cop."_

" _Yeah, I know. What did you find out about him?"_

" _He's definitely got scumbag tendencies-what does this guy even mean to you?"_

" _He's dating your mother—I saw him ask her to dinner in the station. I got a bad vibe from the guy."_

"What did you do with Madeleine Spencer?" demanded Shawn suddenly, fear and anger competing in his veins.

Both men looked at him, but Hunt stepped toward him. "How do you know about that?"

Shawn's heart tripled. "I—had a vision," said Shawn. "What did you—"

Both men looked at him. Hunt grinned sickly. "Oh, would you look at that? I didn't even put two and two together."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Capone.

"He knows I had a psych evaluation with his  _mother_." Shawn yanked involuntarily against the bonds as Hunt said, "Yes, I thought she would blow everything if she dug deep enough. But she didn't see through me. I keep quite a tight lid on my…  _extracurricular_  activities," he said.

"I saw… you asked her—" began Shawn, but Hunt cut him off.

"I asked her to dinner afterward because I was concerned she might figure things out," said Hunt, then smiled darkly. "I thought I'd have to give her some…  _incentive_  to pass my evaluation."

Fear shot an icy line down Shawn's spine. "What the hell did you—"

"Oh, relax," said Hunt with a wave of his hand. "She passed me before I had to resort to more… unfortunate tactics."

Shawn sank back in the chair in relief.

Hunt laughed humorlessly. "That police station is oblivious. I've been conning them for months and they don't notice anything." He paused then said, "Well, maybe not that Lassiter. He's always hated me."

Shawn glared at him. "Lassie hates everyone," he mumbled.

"Only people he doesn't trust."

"Enough!" exclaimed Capone, and Shawn flinched back in the chair. The exhaustion settled heavily on him, making it hard to keep his gaze on the man.

"What do you know?" he demanded, the gun back to Shawn's head and Shawn cringed as it pressed hard into his temple.

"I already told—"

But he stopped himself when all three of them heard a small thud from somewhere outside the building. Hunt and Capone exchange looks, then Capone glared at Shawn. "We're not done with you."

They both pulled open the door and Shawn squinted as the light burned his eyes.

The door shut and locked, and Shawn sighed. His head pounded. He shut his eyes, trying to fight his growing irritation. He just wanted to go home.

Of  _course_  Henry's favor would drag him into something like this. Shawn opened his eyes, feeling the hot anger in his veins. It burned every ounce of fear. Henry asked Shawn to do this favor because he was jealous of Madeleine and her supposed new boyfriend. Shawn's eyes narrowed.

Another conflict that should have been between Henry and his mother, and Shawn was the one paying the price.

Shawn yanked against the ropes around his wrists. They dug into his skin and he groaned through his teeth, refusing to stop. The pain suddenly sharpened and he felt warm blood trickle down his skin. He hissed in pain and stopped his struggle.

Shawn let loose a breath and opened his eyes.  _You can hate Henry later,_  he told himself,  _now, you need to find a way out._

Shawn looked around the room, wincing as lifting his head sent a sharp stab of pain behind his eyes. He shook off the burn and squinted, using the bright moonlight that filled the small room. He was in a basement, that was for sure. There was a small window toward the ceiling that showed ground level; it was a parking lot. Moonlight filtered through the dusty glass. The bare cement walls and grime staining the concrete beneath the window told him this room hadn't been used in years. Broken crates littered the floor, splintered wood strewn across the concrete. Shawn squinted and waited for his blurry vision to clear enough for him to read the word written across the boxes.

 _Albright_.

Shawn's mind ran back through his walk through the police station;  _Albright_  was the name of the arms dealership, acting as some sort of other business. Shawn sighed again; the one case he hadn't even cared to get himself involved with, he suddenly became pertinent to.

Fantastic.

 _So, how do I get out?_ he wondered, yanking on the bindings again. He hissed as it cut further into his skin. Nothing was coming to mind. Shawn shut his eyes, searching through everything Henry had ever taught him—

His eyes shot open and he cut off the thought. He didn't need Henry to save him. Shawn had taken care of himself for ten years without his father's help. He didn't need it now.

Shawn sighed as the deep realization hit him. Gus was most likely asleep—his bed time was anywhere between eight and eight fifteen. He had no way to contact Juliet or even Lassiter; his cell phone had been broken days ago during the museum case he and Gus had been on. These men were going to come back down and probably kill him. Shawn swallowed hard. There was no one to save him.

He was on his own.


	5. Chapter 5

1989

" _We found him in the trunk." said Detective Winstrom, walking into the SBPD. Henry looked up at the soft voice of the detective. The man's face was ashen. Henry knew what case the man was working on._

_A young boy, Jeremy Marshall, eight years old, was kidnapped two days earlier. They'd just gotten a lead on his whereabouts, and as the lead on the investigation, Winstrom had gone to rescue him. But at the stricken expression on his face, the way his eyes didn't quite meet Henry's, Henry knew that this was far from a rescue. Henry stood, the file he was holding falling to his desk and scattering._

" _You—you what?" asked Henry, heart sinking in his chest. "Was he—" He tried, but stopped himself when Winstrom shook his head. Henry heard one of the female detectives nearby gasp and press a hand over her mouth in horror. Numb, Henry let his eyes wander to the photos of the little boy supplied by his parents. He was so young. The first thing Henry had thought when he heard about this case was that the boy reminded him of…_

_Shawn._

_Henry left early that day. He knew Shawn was home from school. Once he pulled in the driveway, he saw Shawn on the front lawn, rope tied around his waist and he was holding the end. He whipped around as he saw Henry's car. He was obviously trying some half-assed stunt that would have resulted in several broken bones._

" _Dad," said Shawn, guilt written all over his face as he struggled to get the rope off. "I, uh, I was just… uh…"_

" _It doesn't matter, son," said Henry, ignoring his son's stunts for the first time in his life. Shawn dropped the rope and walked hesitantly over to the driveway._

" _Okay," said Shawn, raising an eyebrow and drawing out the word. He stopped in front of Henry._

_Henry looked at him, from his beaten sneakers, his faded jeans and his t-shirt, to his face. Shawn was looking up at him with pure curiosity. Henry had never told him directly, but he never ceased to be amazed with Shawn's intelligence. Just the way his son processed information, the way he understood things far out of his maturity, and yet held onto things that were the exact opposite. He held onto his innocence somehow._

_And he was eight years old._

_Shawn had his whole life ahead of him. Just like little Jeremy Marshall, who'd gotten kidnapped from trying to walk from school alone and never made it home._

_Henry swallowed his emotions, never having shown them to Shawn before, and not about to start now. He opened his trunk and crossed his arms, turning back to his only child. "Alright," said Henry, shoving the emotions deep within him. "Today we're learning about worst case scenarios."_

Henry gripped the open door of the van, the metal cutting into his skin from the force. Henry spent hours, days,  _years_  of Shawn's childhood trying to prevent this from happening.

And now it was.

And the worst part?

_It was his fault._

Shawn could be anywhere right now. Henry slammed the back of the van door, ignoring as it clanged shut. He rubbed the back of his neck, heart drumming faster. The longer Shawn was gone, the more that damned cop could hurt him. Or whatever the hell he wanted to do to him.

Henry swore under his breath, wondering what to do. He hesitated for a moment, then remembered;  _look at the situation from all angles._

As a detective, Henry had learned that looking at something from one vantage point, and one only, gave him only part of the picture. If he focused too closely on one thing, he would never see anything else.

He took a few steps away from the van. The van was getting him nowhere; there had to be something else here.

Henry looked around, the gravel crunching softly under his sneakers, the noise only competing with his own rapid heartbeat in his head. Henry squinted through the darkness, noting that he was most definitely in a parking lot. And up ahead, there was most definitely a building.

That was something.

Henry started off as a jog, keeping his footsteps quiet. He felt his lungs scream after a mere twenty seconds and he cursed himself; he knew he should have kept in better shape after retiring from the force.

Henry slowed his pace as he approached the building, umbrella held tight in his hand. He looked up at the old building. It was eroded and seemed run-down and abandoned, but the name of it still stood—yet slightly faded—on the wall.

_Albright Furnishings._

Henry paused, squinting at it. A furnishing store? He'd passed by this store before, never giving it much thought. He'd almost been positive that it had closed down; there were hardly ever any cars here and the place obviously hadn't been taken care of in ages.

Why would Hunt bring Shawn  _here_?

Henry approached the building quietly. It wasn't more than two stories high, and no more than twenty yards in length. Everything was pitch silent. It seemed empty. There was only a single back door.

Henry grasped the cool metal handle of the door and yanked, but it didn't budge. There was no window on this door, no way of knowing what was on the other side. Henry looked around the outer wall, and his eyes caught something.

There was a window, right at ground level. Probably leading to the basement.

Henry sighed, trying to slow his heart rate and halt the images of worst case scenarios in his mind; he was going to find his son. He just needed to calm down and  _focus._

The window wasn't large, and the glass was incredibly dusty. He wouldn't even have seen it in the darkness if the moonlight hadn't been so bright. Henry sank down to one knee and leaned over, looking through the glass.

His heart caught in his throat.

 _Shawn_.

Henry felt his heart clench inside his chest; the unmistakable figure of his son was tied to a rusted metal chair that was positioned in the middle of a small room. Henry felt a rush of relief at the sight of him. Shawn was awake, and Henry could see his arms pulled tightly together, bindings around his wrists. Shawn's face was screwed up into a grimace as he tried to free himself.

"Shawn!" hissed Henry, already grasping his umbrella tightly and swinging it against the window. It smashed through the glass and the dusty veil erupted into dozens of tiny shards that fell to the ground.

Shawn jerked in the chair, startled. His head whipped toward Henry, and Henry watched realization dawn in Shawn's eyes. " _Dad_?" he whispered, stunned. Even in only the moonlight, Henry could see a darkness settle in Shawn's eyes that Henry hadn't seen in ten years.

It was a darkness he'd never wanted to see again.

"Shawn, thank god," whispered Henry, his heart still beating furiously in his chest. "Are you okay, son?"

Shawn just looked up at him and did the last thing Henry would ever expected him to have done.

He snorted.

"You have  _got_ to be kidding me," muttered Shawn.

Henry gaped at him, barely registering what he was hearing. "Shawn—"

"What are  _you_  doing here?" asked Shawn, voice hard and sharp.

Henry hesitated at the venom in Shawn's voice. He'd only heard Shawn use it once before.

_"Shawn—son—"_

_"No, don't call me that. You are not my father. Not anymore."_

"Shawn," said Henry shortly, swallowing a retort to the comment. This argument was ridiculous; he and Shawn needed to  _get out of here_. Henry quickly looked around the jagged edges of the broken window, but it was already far too small for him or even Shawn to fit through. He gave the door a glance, thinking maybe he could find a way to break in. He lifted himself off the ground and turned back to Shawn, saying, "I'll get you out of—"

"No need." snapped Shawn, and Henry froze halfway to his feet. He sank back to his knee, jaw nearly dropping at Shawn's response. Henry could see Shawn struggle against the bindings around his wrists and the lines of pain in his face. Shawn yanked harder against them, twisting Henry's heart in his chest.

"I've got this under control," muttered Shawn, with forced indifference, wrists still twisting furiously behind him. "How about you go back home and kill some fish or play some bingo or whatever the hell you do in your free time."

Henry hesitated, words caught in his throat. Shawn was  _kidnapped_. His life was in danger, and Henry was here, able to  _help_  him.

What the hell was his son  _thinking?_

"Under control?" snapped Henry sarcastically. "Is this what it looks like when you have things under control?" demanded Henry, feeling a desperate anger creeping into his tone. "Because I'd hate to see what it looks like when things are  _out_ of your control!"

Shawn ground his teeth, head whipping toward Henry as he struggled harder against his bindings. "How about," spat Shawn, eyes glittering with contempt, "you stick to screwing up my life, and  _I'll_  focus on picking up the pieces."

Henry tried to ignore the burning irritation that ran through him. His eyes narrowed, and he felt anger sink into his words. "Shawn, don't be an idiot! You—"

" _Oh_ ," said Shawn, eyes narrowing into slits. "I see.  _I'm_  the idiot here. Let me remind you that  _I'm_  not the reason I'm wrapped up in this in the  _first_ place!"

Henry winced at the guilt riding his veins. "Shawn," he hissed. "Stop being a stubborn ass and let me  _help you_!"

" _I'm_ the stubborn ass?" snapped Shawn, stopping his struggle, glaring daggers into Henry's eyes. "At least  _I_ didn't stalk my  _ex-wife_  because I can't get over the fact that  _she left me_."

Henry froze, words caught in his throat. Shawn's words sank deep into his veins and he fought to ignore it. Ignore the pain. Ignore the emotion. He didn't deal with emotions, didn't work with them, didn't let them affect him.

And he damn well couldn't start now.

"Shawn," said Henry firmly, in the authoritative tone he reserved for his son and his son only. Henry suddenly winced; the hard, jagged concrete under his knees stung. Henry took a breath, shifting his weight, looking back down through the broken window at Shawn's tense figure. "Are you okay?" he asked suddenly, surprised that his voice came out rough and irritated. But, he considered, that was usually how it came out when he spoke with Shawn.

"What the hell do you care?" snapped Shawn, obviously catching the irritation in his father's voice, yanking sharply at his bindings in emphasis. It must have hurt, because Shawn gasped, but clamped his mouth shut, seeming determined to keep his pain to himself. Henry's chest constricted as he watched.

How could Shawn possibly think Henry wouldn't  _care_?

"Shawn—" began Henry, but Shawn cut him off.

"Just go away."

Henry's eyes narrowed.  _What is wrong with him?_ "I'm not leaving you here, Shawn!" He felt his heart slamming against his chest again. He caught his voice and lowered it back to a whisper, checking over his shoulder, paranoia slipping icily down his spine. "I'll get you out of here, just—"

"What makes you think I can't get out of this myself?" demanded Shawn, wrestling against the rope. Henry hesitated; flashes of Shawn's childhood escapades and near-death stunts immediately came to mind. Every time Henry thought about Shawn as a detective, working on murder cases, chasing after dangerous criminals, he could hardly sleep. Henry watched his son through his childhood, witnessed his mistakes and swallowed his fear every time Shawn's stupid stunts almost cost him his life. Shawn didn't go to the police academy, he didn't know how to protect himself, he didn't know the horrors of the world. Even at almost thirty years old, Shawn still held onto that innocence. The idea of Shawn in these situations terrified Henry.

" _Kid_ ," said Henry at last, not even bothering to hide his desperation. "You don't understand," he said firmly, trying to drill the words into his son's head. "This is serious, Shawn!"

"Dad!" exclaimed Shawn in a harsh whisper, cutting off Henry's words. "This isn't my first rodeo! I've been kidnapped before, Dad!" snapped Shawn, and Henry felt the words strike him deep in his chest, remembering when Drimmer kidnapped Shawn and tried to kill him and Detective Lassiter. Henry had been beside himself with fear.

"I can  _handle_  it," continued Shawn, dropping his voice, tearing Henry from the memory. "Don't forget that I spent ten years fending for myself, and it wasn't all glamorous." snapped Shawn, looking away. Henry froze; this was the first time Shawn had ever mentioned  _anything_ about those ten years. They'd both been strictly avoiding the topic ever since he returned to Santa Barbara. Cutting Henry's stupor short, Shawn muttered, "I can take care of myself." He turned his head away and Henry could see a gash on Shawn's forehead and a thin line of blood trailing down his cheek. Henry swallowed the lump in his throat and felt the anger sear through his veins. Hunt was going to be sorry he ever laid a hand on his son.

"Shawn," said Henry, suddenly terrified that Hunt could come back at any moment. How had he managed to waste so much time with this useless bickering? "Yeah, you've been through a few… experiences…" said Henry, trying to convince his son to snap out of whatever idiocy this was. "But, kid, you were lucky then—"

"Lucky?" repeated Shawn incredulously, turning back toward Henry.

Henry shut his eyes in frustration, gripping the handle of his makeshift weapon so hard it hurt.

Why the hell was Shawn being so  _difficult?_

"So," continued Shawn, as if this conversation was taking place in Henry's kitchen or somewhere equally as casual. "It was  _luck_ that solved every one of those cases Gus and I have solved with Psych and the department?" he said, words dripping with malicious sarcasm. "Then I should really start buying some lottery cards."

Henry's eyes shot open, anger burning through him. The last thing they needed right now was this argument. He needed to get Shawn the hell out of here. "Shawn!" exclaimed Henry in exasperation. "Just let go of your damned pride for one second!"

"You're one to talk."

Pressed fear and anger sharpened Henry's words. "Shawn," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Trust me, you—"

" _Trust_ you?" demanded Shawn, looking back at him, eyes glowering with something far stronger than anger. "You want me to  _trust you_?"

Henry shut his eyes and said, through clenched teeth, "Yes, yes!  _Fine_! I lied to you! What do you want me to say?" he demanded, eyes snapping open. "Look, I'm sor—"

"Save it."

Fear and anger singed Henry's veins. "Shawn, just let me—"

"I don't need you."

Henry's words died in his throat. Shawn's words were quiet but heavy. Shawn was staring at the floor, and Henry could see the dark blood trickling from his fingers, hitting the concrete. His heart twisted painfully inside his chest.

"Just hang on," said Henry, looking back at the door on the side of the building. "I'll find a way inside."

"Dad," growled Shawn, eyes burning in fury. "I don't—"

"Too bad," snapped Henry. "I'm coming in whether you like it or not."

"Dad—"

Henry ignored Shawn's protest and stood, making his way quickly back toward the back door. He ignored every word Shawn had said to him. He could hardly believe Shawn's stupidity; Shawn's  _life_ was in danger! And he was refusing help.

He would rather die than accept help from his father.

The realization felt like a jagged knife in Henry's chest. His mind reeled back into a wave of questions, of what he did so wrong as a father.

But he couldn't think about that now.

He needed to save his son, and then make things right.

Henry grasped the door again, already knowing it wasn't going to budge. He yanked on the handle, surprised to have it swing open. He thrust it open all the way, ready to rush inside, when he realized why it had opened. It had been opened from the inside.

And the man who opened it was standing directly in front of him.

With a gun aimed at Henry's head.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

"Dad—"

But Henry was already gone. Shawn yanked against the bindings again, then quickly stopped and sucked in a breath, realizing just how much his wrists were burning in pain.

Why now? Why, of all the people in the universe, did  _Henry_  have to be his only chance to get out of this place?

Shawn took a breath, riding the waves of stinging pain in his wrists. Though, on the brighter side, the pounding in his head had quieted to a dull nuisance and his vision had cleared drastically; the drugs must have worn off by now. Well, that was good. He needed to focus. He had to free himself.

He couldn't let his father prove him wrong.

Not again.

Shawn prided himself on being able to take care of himself. He'd done it for most of his life. But Henry never saw that. He only looked at Shawn and saw a screw-up, little kid who was always in over his head. Shawn ground his teeth, anger singeing his veins. Henry wasn't there when Shawn was at gunpoint in more than half of his cases. He wasn't there to see Shawn fearlessly chasing murderers, saving lives, solving crimes. He didn't see any of it. Henry had no idea what Shawn was capable of.

And this was no different. How the  _hell_  could Henry think this was the kind of secret he could keep all to himself? Henry's divorce affected Shawn just as much as it affected him. Shawn shut his eyes, teeth clenching. Did they really think he was that weak?

Shawn exhaled sharply, trying to keep his anger from bubbling over. If there was anything he wasn't, it was weak. Shawn Spencer was  _not_  weak.

 _Stop it_ , a rational voice berated him in the back of his mind. He took a short breath and shut his eyes. He needed to focus. He couldn't waste time by trying to decipher whatever it was he was feeling; how many times did he have to remind himself that he didn't do emotions?

Opening his eyes, Shawn tugged on the rope again. Part of him felt a huge rush of stupidity; yanking on them for the past twenty minutes was doing nothing to loosen the knot. His wrists stung in protest and Shawn inhaled sharply, halting his movement. He had to get the rope off or he wasn't going anywhere.

Shawn huffed in frustration, accidentally pulling against the rope, and gasped again. He scowled at the pain. No. He couldn't be stuck here. He just gave his father a speech about how self-efficient he was. He couldn't screw up now.

Shawn looked around the room, but there was no luck; there was nothing he could use to cut the rope. No knives, scissors, nothing. He fought another wave of frustration and scanned the dirty ground, over the boxes, the broken shards of glass…

_That was it._

Relief rushed through him. Henry had smashed the window and dozens of razor sharp shards of glass were scattered on the grimy floor.

Not wasting a second, Shawn braced himself and pushed backward, letting the chair topple to the side. He cringed as his back struck the ground, unable to protect himself from the fall. Pain throbbed from the impact as the cold of the concrete seeped quickly through his thin shirt. Tasting blood in his mouth, Shawn reached his hands carefully backward. His numb fingers felt the ground behind him, his shoulders burning in the bad angle. Grimacing, Shawn bit his tongue as he vaguely felt the edge of a jagged shard, and he clumsily grasped it in one hand. He slowly turned it against the rope, gasping shortly as the sharp glass accidentally cut into his skin. Ignoring it, Shawn pressed down against the rope and sawed. His movements were slow and staggered with little feeling left in his fingers.

His wrists and shoulders were burning by the time the rope snapped in two and he felt his wrists move freely apart. Gratefully, Shawn shut his eyes as the feeling slowly spread into his hands again. But with feeling came pain. He laid on his back, the cold cement seeping into his skin and he shivered. Shawn pulls his wrists to his chest, wincing as he touched the raw wounds on his wrists. Blood still trickled down his skin.

 _Escape rope: check_. But, now what? Shawn shut his eyes, trying to think. The door was locked. The window was far too small—

Shawn's eyes suddenly snapped open; voices suddenly echoed somewhere in the distance.

Hunt and Capone were coming back.

Heart jumping in to a frenzy, thudding against his chest, Shawn shoved himself up, and stumbled to his feet. For the first time since Henry showed up, Shawn suddenly realized just how much danger he was in. These men were coming back to  _kill_  him. And he was still locked inside this damned room.

 _Focus_ , a rational voice snapped at him. Shawn shook himself and whipped his head back toward the window, but as Henry mentioned, the window was far too small for him to fit through.

There had to be another way.

Fighting a vague head rush, Shawn blinked and examined the room. He already knew what was in it; he only needed one look to memorize its contents: broken, wooden crates, glass, and a door.

Already presuming what would happen, Shawn quickly crossed the room and yanked on the handle of the door. It didn't budge. Trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as he heard footsteps somewhere above him, Shawn yanked harder, but the knob still didn't turn.

"Work with me, here," hissed Shawn through his teeth, pulling on the knob harder, causing the pain in his wrist to flare up again. He hissed in pain and released the knob, grasping his still-bleeding wrist.

With a furious growl, Shawn slammed his palms against the door and shoved, somehow thinking it would miraculously swing open. It didn't. Shawn kicked it in fury, hissing, "Come  _on_!"

" _Come_   _on_!"

_Shawn sighed loudly, his feet crossed on his desk as he tossed his stress-toy up and down. He raised a judgmental eyebrow at Gus, who had been kneeling in front of the back door of the Psych office. He'd just stood and kicked the door in frustration._

" _Problems, MacGyver?" asked Shawn, tossing his stress-toy up and catching it again._

_Gus grabbed the magazine he was holding—Safecracker's Monthly—and threw it at Shawn. It hit him in the chest and he gasped dramatically._

" _It says this was supposed to work," muttered Gus. Shawn sighed even louder. Gus had been trying to open the back door with a trick he'd learned in the magazine—a household items escape tutorial, as it read, for the less technologically advanced safes (or, as Shawn put it, glorified lock picking)—for hours now, but was obviously still unsuccessful._

" _Fine," said Shawn, tossing the stress toy on his desk and getting up. He walked to the door and grabbed the small nail Gus was holding. He knelt by the door and gave the page of the magazine a glance, the words instantly printed into his memory. He grasped the knob and—_

" _Gus," said Shawn, turning around. "You do realize you didn't lock the door to begin with, right?"_

_Shawn shoved it open with his foot._

" _Shawn—" began Gus angrily, but Shawn only snickered and shut and locked the door. He inserted the nail and fiddled with it as the magazine told him, and—_

" _What? No!" gasped Gus, jaw dropping as the door opened._

" _You're welcome." said Shawn, shrugging and plopping back down into his chair. He picked up the stress toy and continued his game._

" _No!" growled Gus again. "Breaking into places is MY thing!"_

" _Not anymore, buddy."_

Shawn froze, chest heaving.

That's  _right_.

Spinning around, Shawn quickly grabbed one of the wooden crates. He grinned to himself at the nails protruding out of the seams. The crates were water-stained enough for the nail to slide easily out.

Shawn rushed back to the door and jammed the nail into the lock, reading the page of the magazine clearly in his mind. Heart beating furiously in his chest, Shawn waited for the lock to give way.

"—get rid of him."

Freezing his movement in pure fear, Shawn's heart skipped as he heard the voices closer than they were before. He jammed the nail in again, waited to hear the last click..

And the door knob twisted.

Shawn grinned in relief and ripped the door open, stumbling out of the room. Light burned his eyes and he nearly tripped over himself in his rush to get out of the room. He quickly rammed his shoulder into a wall of what seemed like a narrow hallway. Blinking rapidly, the gray-walled hallway of a basement swam into view. Shawn ran down toward the exit sign at one end of the hall, hearing the door click shut behind him.

Shawn grasped the exit door and it opened easily for him, and he took the stairs two at a time. In a brighter light, Shawn caught sight of his wrists. He stumbled on the stairs, nearly falling down a few; his wrists were rubbed raw. He had no idea he'd been yanking that hard…

Shawn shook himself; he couldn't think about that now. First…

He needed to get out of here.

* * *

Henry stumbled backward. The black muzzle of the gun aimed right between his eyes, stopping his heart dead in his chest.

"Well, well,  _well_ ," muttered the man. Henry's eyes slowly shifted to the man holding the weapon; it wasn't Hunt.

There were  _two_?

The fingers tightened around the trigger as the man's pale face twisted into a scowl. His eyes glowered underneath strands of dark hair, making him seem almost paler. He took a threatening step closer to Henry, who stumbled back, eyes shifting back to the weapon.

 _Standard gunpoint procedure_ , thought Henry robotically. The sudden detective voice in his head surprised him; he hadn't heard it in years. Well, he hadn't had to hear it in years. Henry swallowed hard, unable to look away from the gun.

 _Stay calm_ , the voice whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. Henry blinked; that was right. Standard gunpoint procedure was taught at the academy, and the first step was the most crucial. He had to stay calm. If he was calm, his assailant was calm.

"Hey, now," began Henry, his heart beating so hard his chest hurt. He raised his hands slowly, showing his surrender, and he carefully shifted his weight back.

The man's scowl deepened. "Don't move." He shook his head, anger twisting his features. "Damn it," he hissed. "This was a setup, wasn't it?"

Henry's heart skipped;  _setup_? "Setup?" he repeated. Henry swallowed hard as the man adjusted his grip on the weapon, inches from Henry's face.  _Stay calm_ , Henry reminded himself firmly. "What—what are you talking about?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.

The man's hand twitched on the gun and Henry nearly flinched.

"You're with that cop," said the man quietly. " _Spencer_." Henry's heart stuttered again, contempt and fear washing hotly through him. Shawn's face suddenly flashed to his mind. The blood on his cheek, the wounds on his wrists… Anger flared dangerously inside Henry, burning fiercely through his eyes.

The man's eyes narrowed further as he said, "That kid's working with the cops, isn't he? Did you lead them straight to us?" he demanded, fingers gripping the weapon tighter, looking over Henry's shoulder into the darkness, as if waiting for someone to appear.

"What?" said Henry, his forced calmness mixing with confusion. The man's knuckles turned white in his grasp on the gun. Fear trailed down Henry's spine.

Stay  _calm_.

"And you thought you'd come in and rescue your little friend?" the man asked, nodding his head shortly to the building with a snicker.

 _Shawn_.

Henry felt anger sear even stronger through his veins. His own expression twisted in fury, his words dark and heavy. "Let him go."

The man laughed, making the anger swimming in Henry's veins burn viciously. "You," said the man, amusement fading quickly from his features, "are in no position to give me demands." His eyes shifted to Henry's right fist, still clutching the umbrella in a grip that hurt. The man coughed a laugh. "Is that your weapon? An  _umbrella_?" He shook his head as Henry scowled. "This is what the cops send? Pathetic." he said quietly. "You're even more useless than that kid."

All train of thought erupted in a wave of fury, and before he knew what he was doing, Henry was swinging his makeshift weapon at the man's head. He struck his target, making the man stumble backward into the doorframe, and Henry took one step forward before pain erupted on the back of his head.

Henry barely caught himself on the wall before an arm was wrapped around his neck, nearly crushing his windpipe. The cold metal of the gun pressed to his temple. Henry froze, breathing hard, fear paralyzing him.

He searched his mind for any lesson he'd learned at the academy, anything he'd gotten from his experiences on the force, anything he knew about fighting. But his mind was blank.

Empty.

He grasped the arm around him and yanked on it, but the arm only tightened.

"I knew that kid was lying," hissed the man in Henry's ear, the gun pressing painfully hard into Henry's already throbbing head. "I knew he was working with those cops—"

"He—we—" gasped Henry, trying to find the words. Who the hell  _was_  this man?

What did he and Shawn get  _into_?

"Are they coming?" demanded the man, jerking Henry in his grip. "The cops? What did you bastards tell them?"

Henry couldn't answer; the wind was knocked straight out of his lungs.

"Should have killed that stupid kid the moment I caught him," the man spat, the gun pressing even harder.

Henry, grasped the arm around his neck, but he wasn't strong enough to fend the man off. Fear ran like ice through his veins, paralyzing him. Spots danced before his eyes.

 _Shawn_ … thought Henry, as the man cocked the gun.  _I'm sorry, kid_.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The arm released so suddenly that Henry barely processed it. He fell to his knees, coughing, trying to catch his breath. He looked up, squinting through the moonlight in time to see someone else walk through the doorway.

James Hunt.

He didn't look happy. If anything, he seemed…  _scared_. He stopped at the doorway, his expression sinking quickly into a scowl, his chest rising and falling quickly, seeming as if he'd been running. He shoved his phone in his pocket and repeated, "What the  _hell_  are you doing?"

"Hunt," growled the man, not releasing his hold on Henry. "Apparently Spencer invited friends." He pressed the gun into Henry's head again, making Henry wince. "I told you we should have killed him."

"No!" said Hunt harshly, pressing a hand roughly into the man's chest, shoving him backward. The man's glare was venomous. "I told you weeks ago, no killing! Especially cops—!"

The man's face twisted in disgust. "Don't make me regret working with you, Hunt," he growled. He raised his gun to Henry again, making him wince. Henry kicked himself for showing fear. He glared at the man, teeth clenched, as the man growled, "This man is nothing, and neither is the stupid consultant—"

"Just—just keep them downstairs," stressed Hunt, grasping the man's gun and pointing it away from Henry and himself. "I agreed to the money, I agreed to this  _business_ ," he hissed. "But I am not about to be an accessory to murder!"

The man's knuckles turned white in his death grip on the gun. He turned his black eyes from Hunt to Henry, and Henry could see his pale knuckles grow even whiter. He finally lowered the gun and hissed, " _Fine_." He turned to Hunt, and shoved Henry toward him. Henry stumbled and Hunt grabbed his arm in a grip that hurt. "Take him downstairs and lock him in with Spencer. Then we need to get out of here."

"Agreed," nodded Hunt. He tugged Henry sharply and forced him in through the doorway. The building had few lights on, and was far bigger than it seemed from the outside. Henry walked through—well, more like shoved through—a narrow hallway, to a looming open doorway. Hunt led him through, and Henry felt himself tense. The building was most definitely a furnishing store, though there wasn't as much furniture as there were weapons. Boxes and tables full of weapons and ammunition, knives and explosives were organized throughout the building. As were many furniture stores, the building was constructed of dozens of rooms, one leading into the other, almost like a maze.

It was like a real, materialized black market.

How did he and Shawn manage to stumble into  _this_?

The grip on Henry's arm felt numbing. He stumbled as Hunt shoved him through a doorway and led him down a new hallway. The lights were dim, the walls dark. Henry could barely hear anything over the pounding of his own heartbeat inside his head.

What kind of help was he supposed to offer to Shawn if he was just locked up with him?

"Listen to me," said Henry, trying to pull against the tight hold on his arm as Hunt half-walked, half-dragged him down a hallway. "Look—me and—and that consultant," said Henry, heart slamming so hard against his chest he could barely speak. "We didn't see anything, here. You can just let us—"

"Shut up," came a voice behind him—Hunt's partner, whom Henry had yet to hear a name. The man passed Hunt and Henry, pushing open a door that led to a staircase. "I swear to god," he growled, staring daggers at Henry. "If you say one more damned word I'll put a bullet in you and get rid of  _him_."

Henry clamped his mouth shut, swallowing the urge to retort. Hunt led him down a staircase into what looked like a basement. The walls and floor were dirty cement. The air was cold and stale; Henry suppressed a shiver.

The three men walked in silence to a door on their left. It was solid oak. Henry's heart sank; that wasn't easy to knock down. The hinges looked strong, far too difficult to loosen. And the doorknob was new and required a key. Henry sighed internally at the odds of an escape.

"He and Spencer stay here," said the man to Hunt, fidgeting with a ring of keys between his fingers. "Then we grab our money and go. I'm not taking a chance with these two; if they called the cops, they'll be here any minute."

Hunt nodded stiffly, as if waiting for the man to say something he'd disagree with.

"Good," said the man. He found the key he was looking for and shoved it into the lock and twisted. He opened the door, and said, "Well, Spencer, looks like we foun—"

But he stopped talking as the door swung open.

And the room was empty.

The chair lay on its side, severed rope on the ground, shards of broken glass at the foot of the window. Henry felt his heart sink to the floor as both Hunt's and the man's jaw dropped.

"He didn't," growled the man. "No, he  _didn't_!"

"What the—" began Hunt, spinning around, as if Shawn was somewhere in the hallway.

"Where did he go?!" exclaimed the man, forcefully shoving the door open again, and it ricocheted off the wall of the room with a  _clang_. He stalked forward and lifted the chair, examining the ripped bindings and glass. " _Where the hell did he go_?" he repeated, angrier, throwing the chair against the wall, making both Hunt and Henry flinch.

 _Where_ did  _he go?_ wondered Henry nervously. How did he even get  _out_?

"We'll find him," assured Hunt gruffly, but the man glared daggers at him.

"Look!" said Hunt firmly. "He can't get far. We'll find him. Just…"

The man looked back to Henry, as if both he and his partner were wordlessly deciding what to do with him. The man looked over Henry's shoulder. "We need to find that little bastard. Just… Just tie him with this," said the man, grabbing the rope and tossing it at Hunt's chest, who caught it reflexively. The man stepped over the boxes and Henry heard the distinct sound of glass breaking underneath the man's boot as he stepped on the window shards. "Get those boxes out of here and..." he looked back down at the shards, seeming to realize it was what Shawn had used to escape. He angrily slammed his boot down on the shards, leaving only a pile of dust. He stalked out of the room, glaring at Henry as he passed, and suddenly drew his gun. He pressed it painfully into Henry's chest, making him grimace. "If you try what he did," he threatened, gun pressing harder into his chest. "I'll kill you both." He pulled back the hammer on his gun, making Henry's heart slam against his chest. "Starting with the kid."

Henry yanked reflexively against Hunt's hold on him, hatred burning in his veins, overcome by an vicious desire to hurt the man. "If you touch him—" growled Henry, but the man removed the gun from Henry's chest and slammed it into the side of Henry's head. Pain exploded behind his eyes and Henry stumbled, barely staying on his feet.

"I told you, I'm not killing—" began Hunt defiantly, keeping a tight grip on Henry, but the man cut him off.

"If I find him first," snapped the man, not stopping to to turn. "He's dead."

Hunt grunted, then shoved Henry forward and forced him into the chair. Henry's head was pounding, the room slightly swaying before his eyes, preventing him from making any sort of struggle. He vaguely felt Hunt tie him tightly with the same rope they used on Shawn. Henry shut his eyes, trying to numb the pounding in his head as Hunt removed anything he could possibly use to escape from the room and left. The door shut firmly behind the man and the slam echoed in the silence.

"Damn it, Shawn," muttered Henry, forcing his eyes back open. He yanked hard against the rope, feeling it dig sharply into his wrists. He stopped himself, remembering the mess Shawn had made of his own wrists; obviously tugging against the rope had done nothing to loosen them.

Henry exhaled sharply in frustration, heart still beating painfully fast in his chest. Fear was snaking up his spine again. He growled aloud; this was perfect. Just  _perfect_. Some rescuer he was. The moment he tried to save his son he'd gotten  _himself_  captured.

Henry shut his eyes, frustration tensing his every muscle; how could he allow this to happen? How did  _he_  end up the one who was tied up in the room, and Shawn had figured his own way out? A strong wave of foolishness struck him deep in his chest. No, not foolishness.

Shame.

How  _dare_  he let himself get into this situation?  _Henry Spencer_  was smart, strong, and a  _detective_ , for goodness sake. He was not stupid enough to have let this happen. He was not helpless.

He was not  _weak_.

Henry shook himself again, opening his eyes. He could beat himself up all he wanted. But this just wasn't the time. He had to get out of here.

 _Well, how did Shawn even get out?_  he suddenly wondered. He surveyed the room. The boxes were thrown out of the room, but Henry didn't even know how they would have helped him escape. The boxes had been splintering and water-stained, and had a faded logo of the building. Henry let his eyes fall to the broken glass on the ground. He felt a small surge of pride; he was able to help Shawn, at least a little. The broken shards of glass he'd made when he smashed the window were sharp enough to cut through the rope. But to Henry's disappointment, the man had effectively taken them out of the equation. All that was left was dust or less. At least Shawn had been able to get himself out.  _And Shawn thought he'd never need that survival training,_  thought Henry wryly.

 _Okay, that's how he got out of the chair… but how about that door?_  Henry looked at the door, but the lock definitely required a key. And Henry had never taught Shawn to pick locks. He'd thought about it, but knew with Shawn's track record, he'd only be teaching his son how to break into places he didn't belong, rather than breaking him out of places he needed to get out of. He didn't need to arrest his son a second time.

 _So, how did he do it?_  wondered Henry. Well, no matter how he did it, it worked. Shawn was out of the room.

And now he was god knows where with two killers after him.

Well,  _one_  killer, that was. There was something…  _off_  about that Hunt.

_"I told you weeks ago, no killing!"_

Strange that  _murder_  was where Hunt drew the line, especially since he seemed to be a partner of an  _arms_  dealership. Something felt very off about that. Very off…

Henry shook himself; he couldn't worry about that right now. He had to get out of this damned room and find his son. He'd promised Shawn that much, and  _damn it_  this was a promise he needed to keep.

_"Are you okay?"_

_"What the hell do you care?"_

Henry grimaced, Shawn's words echoing painfully in his head. He yanked reflexively against the rope, biting his tongue as the bindings bit into his skin. He needed to get out of here and find Shawn.

But…

_How?_

* * *

Shawn dashed up the rest of the stairs, chest heaving. He stopped on the next floor, another hallway laid out before him, leading into some other dimly-lit room. But Shawn didn't care about the room or whatever was inside it.

Because on his other side was an  _exit_.

Shawn grabbed and twisted the handle and shoved himself against the door, grateful it opened easily for him. He grinned to himself as he stepped outside, fresh air rushing up to meet him. The door shut faintly behind him. His wrists were still burning, but he fought to ignore it. He was  _free_.

Now he just needed to find Henry.

Hopefully his father wasn't actually serious when he said he was coming in after Shawn. Walking along the side of the building, Shawn looked for any sign of his father. He didn't mind finding Henry now; at least now he could smugly rub it in Henry's face that he escaped by  _himself_  without anyone else's unwanted help. This would most definitely be something he'd remind the man every day until most likely the end of time.

Shawn crept along the building, clinging to the shadows in case Hunt or Capone decided to step outside for some air. But the night was still, calm and quiet; Shawn wondered how far outside of the city he actually was. Shawn's footsteps were the only sound that echoed in the air. He accidentally kicked a pebble, and it scattered across the pavement. Shawn's gaze followed it as it hit a window to the basement—

But fell straight through.

Because  _that_  window was broken.

 _Oh_ , thought Shawn vaguely.  _This is the room where I was held_. He kept walking, letting his eyes fall to the room, expecting to see the chair lying on its side where he left it.

But it wasn't on its side anymore.

And it wasn't empty.

Shawn's jaw dropped and he stumbled to a stop outside the window. He gaped at the sight, stunned, and whispered, " _Dad_?"

Henry's head whipped up, his eyes immediately widening at Shawn. " _Shawn_?!" His own expression mirrored Shawn's disbelief. He, just like Shawn had been, was tied to the chair in the middle of the small room. Henry's own wrists were tied behind him this time, though the room was now completely empty, devoid of all boxes and even the glass.

Shawn and Henry stared at each other for a solid moment, then Shawn felt his lips tug into a grin and he choked a laugh. "Oh, this is rich."

"Shawn…" began Henry, seeming at a loss for words. "How the hell did you get out of here?"

Shawn bent down in front of the window, sitting on his heels. He crossed his arms and said, "I think the better question is how the hell did you get  _in_  there?" He bit his lip, unable to fight another grin.

Henry most definitely caught Shawn's amusement. His expression twisted in frustration, and he hissed, " _Shawn_! This is not funny!"

Shawn couldn't help a laugh that time, which only seemed to make Henry's face redder. "It's a little funny."

" _Shawn_ —"

"Was this part of your plan?" asked Shawn casually, not even caring about the grin on his face. "Nice."

"Shawn, just shut up and listen to me—"

"Listen to you?" repeated Shawn, eyebrows shooting up. "Maybe you should go back in time and listen to  _me_  when I said  _I've got this under control_."

"Shawn—" growled Henry, but Shawn cut him off, acid sinking into his tone. "What?" spat Shawn. "Not a good time to say  _I told you so_?" he snapped coldly. " _You_  never seem to forget that."

"This is notthe time, Shawn!" growled Henry darkly.

"Too bad," snapped Shawn, anger heating his veins. "I've had to listen to you and your damned two cents my entire life so now it's  _my_ turn. How does it feel to be the idiot tied to the chair this time?"

Henry's face twisted deeper in anger. "Damn it, Shawn—"

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" snapped Shawn, cutting off Henry's words instantly _,_  and even Shawn was surprised at the edge to his tone. He took a breath, realizing he was clenching his hands into fists, pulling sharply on his wounds. He slowly relaxed his hands, mentally shaking himself. He couldn't be angry now. Whether he wanted to care or not, this situation really  _wasn't_ the time for another argument.

"Look, Shawn," said Henry quickly. "Those men—they know you've escaped. They're  _looking_  for you."

Shawn met Henry's eyes, and, for the first time that night, Shawn saw something past the anger in his father's eyes. Past frustration, past irritation, past contempt.

He saw fear.

Shawn bit his lip, not liking the emotions flitting through his veins. He shoved them away and said, "Fine. I'll come back in." Shawn stood, as Henry hissed, "I don't need—" but cut himself off.

Shawn's eyes narrowed. "Don't need  _what_ now?" He raised an eyebrow. "Don't need  _help?_  Because it looks to me like you do."

Henry ground his teeth, and said, "Shawn, I don't—"

"Yeah," said Shawn sarcastically. "Because high and mighty  _Henry Spencer_ never needs help because  _he's_  got everything under control."

Henry's eyes flashed. "Wonder where I heard  _that_ before!"

"Well, now  _I'm_ not the one with my ass tied to a chair," snapped Shawn. "Am I?" He watched Henry shut his eyes, seeming overwhelmed by his frustration. Shawn checked over his shoulder and started to stand, then said, "Have it your way, Dad. But I'm coming in anyway. I'm not letting you hang this over me if I let you die here."

"No!" stressed Henry, and Shawn turned back around, surprised by the urgency in his father's voice. Something close to panic underlied Henry's voice as he said, "Just—just hide. Get out of here, and call the chief—"

"No can do," said Shawn, bending back down again.

Henry's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean  _no can do_?" he demanded. "It's three numbers, Shawn! 9-1-"

"No," said Shawn, shaking his head in annoyance. "I don't have a  _phone_."

"What are you talking about?" hissed Henry.

Shawn shrugged. "I already told you I broke it a few days ago when Gus and I spent the night at the museum and almost got killed by a mummy."

" _What_?" hissed Henry.

"It wasn't a  _real_  mummy—"

"Forget about the damned mummy, Shawn, why didn't you get a new  _phone_?"

"Oh, all of a sudden this is  _my_ fault?" said Shawn acidly. "Actually,  _you_  were supposed to buy me a new one, remember? When Mom—" began Shawn, but he cut himself off, feeling a wave of pain suddenly hit him like a tidal wave.

_"Don't you ever think that I wanted to leave you."_

"Shawn?" asked Henry, and Shawn opened his eyes. Shawn shook himself, discarding his emotions until he felt numb. He looked back at Henry, not quite meeting his eyes, and said, "I'll get you out."

"Shawn, don't—" hissed Henry, but Shawn ignored him. He pushed himself up off the ground and jogged back to the door he left through.

Shawn briefly shut his eyes, feeling a mixture of emotion stirring somewhere deep inside of him. It was unfamiliar; he was so used to being able to keep it shoved down in the depths of his mind. But now he could barely keep it from overwhelming him. He shook himself, trying to focus. He'd get Henry out, get back to the truck and let the cops handle the rest. Then, he could get on his Norton, drive as far as he could from this place and never look back.

He grasped the chilled handle, and twisted; it was still open. He slipped inside and let it fall closed behind him. He turned around, ready to descend the stairs toward Henry, but stopped dead.

Because that staircase wasn't empty.

And the man standing at the bottom froze just as quickly, then a smug grin slipped across Capone's face, stopping Shawn's heart dead in his chest. Shawn was paralyzed.

Frozen.

Rooted to the spot, Shawn stared, time seeming to stand completely and utterly still. His muscles, his mind, his everything rigid. He just watched as Capone lifted the gun, aimed it squarely at Shawn's chest and pulled back the hammer.

And fired.


	7. Chapter 7

Shawn crashed into the wall.

Pain seared in the back of his head as it collided with the cement, his vision flickering dangerously. Shawn blinked his eyes open, staring at a ceiling—a  _moving_ ceiling—and coughed, barely registering that all the wind had been knocked out of his lungs.

Shawn grimaced, clenching his teeth as pain ebbed somewhere in his head from his collision with the wall. Shawn grasped the back of his head, wincing. But that was the least of his worries. He waited for the agony to stab somewhere in his chest, waited for the blinding pain of the bullet that had ripped through him, but…

Nothing.

Shawn opened his eyes, the ceiling blurring back into view. He blinked confusedly at it. If he'd been shot…

Shouldn't he have  _felt_ it?

"— _Spencer_!"

The voice shattered Shawn's daze, somewhere beside him. Heart still slamming hard in his chest, Shawn shoved himself off the ground, not surprised when the world spun before of his eyes. Gray walls swam into view. Still a few steps behind, Shawn vaguely looked down at himself, but there was no blood staining his shirt. No bullet wound. He hadn't been shot.

So how did he crash into the  _wall_?

" _Run_ , damn it!"

The sudden yell startled Shawn, making him whip his head to the side and the world spun even harder. He blinked quickly, making out the form of someone beside him.

It was Hunt.

Shawn gaped at him. Hunt was pushing himself off the ground, panting. He drew his weapon, keeping his eyes trained on something down the stairs. Shawn stared, stunned. The bullet hadn't  _missed_  him.

He'd been pushed out of the  _way_.

Hunt looked urgently back to Shawn, realizing Shawn hadn't made any move to get up. He locked eyes with him and growled, "Spencer!  _Run_!"

Another gunshot coming from the stairwell seemed to finally break through his shock, and Shawn pushed himself clumsily off the ground, watching the floor seem to tilt in his vision. He nearly ran into a wall as he stood up, but his hand shot out, catching himself just before he fell.

"Get out of here, Spencer!  _Go_!" hissed Hunt. Another gunshot went off, a bullet whizzing by Shawn's head making Shawn jerk to the side and Hunt drop out of the way. Without any more hesitation, Shawn dove quickly through the next doorway and ran.

Shawn nearly stumbled to a stop; the room he dove into seemed to be a maze of different rooms connecting with one another.  _Furniture store,_ he remembered. But there were no couches, no plush chairs or anything of the sort; just tables. Shawn ran forward, knocking into one of the tables beside him and something metal clanged to the ground, but Shawn didn't stop. He dashed through the next doorway, into the next room.

His mind was spinning; why did Hunt just save his life? What kind of bad guy  _protects_  his victims?

Shawn ran blindly through the rooms, not caring about where he was going, just caring about getting away. His vision seemed to right itself for the most part; the spinning had dulled to a vague blur, though his head still pounded. He felt something wet on the back of his neck and briefly realized it was blood. He held the collar of his shirt to the wound, wincing at the pressure.

Shawn suddenly passed a door on his left and he stumbled to a stop, nearly running into another table.

This door was an  _exit_.

Shawn flinched as a crash sounded somewhere behind him; someone just ran into a table like he had.

Capone was coming after him.

Heart drumming in his chest, Shawn grasped the handle to the door, yanking it open. Fresh air seeped inside. The empty parking lot loomed ahead.

Freedom.

Shawn suddenly flinched, hearing another crash behind him.

He shut his eyes. He couldn't leave. Henry was still locked in the basement, and who knew what Capone was going to do with him? He shoved away his lingering anger towards his father. He couldn't think about that now. No matter how pissed off he was, how much he  _hated_  the man…

He couldn't just leave him.

Thoroughly hating himself, Shawn shut the door and took off, away from the pounding footsteps into one of the rooms behind him. Shawn weaved between the doorways and the tables full of—

Shawn halted to a stop, eyes locked on the tables.

Tables full of  _weapons_.

Guns, ammunition, and items Shawn didn't even recognize were on each table, organized in open boxes. The SBPD had it right; this  _was_ an arms dealership. Shawn hesitated, running his eyes across the sheer amount. If the SBPD knew this was here, why didn't they make a plan to take it down? What were they waiting for?

 _Who cares_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shook off the questions and grasped one of the guns, the cool metal chilling his skin. At least now  _he_  had a weapon, too. Shawn tilted it in his grip, but his heart quickly sank; the guns weren't assembled. He looked around, but each of their parts were in different boxes. It would take far too long to put one together.

"Damn it," he hissed, throwing the gun back on the table.

"— _bastard_!"

Shawn's head whipped up; Capone's voice wasn't far. Turning around, ignoring the headache pulsing behind his eyes, Shawn wondered what to do. Was he supposed to hide?

But how would that help Henry?

He was going to have go back downstairs. He sighed heavily.  _Note to self,_ thought Shawn dully as he turned back around.  _Never do Henry a favor again._

Another doorway stood behind him, and he rushed through it, looking for a staircase back to Henry. If he just opened Henry's door, they could get the hell out of here, and then this nightmare would be over.

He just had to make it downstairs.

Shawn squinted through the dim lighting, walking into a new room. This one seemed as eerily similar as the rest...

Except for what was laid out on  _this_ table.

He felt his heart skip; a stack of packages stood in the center of the lone table in the room, wires circling them. He swallowed hard, feeling a chill creep down his spine; he knew exactly what those packages were.

Explosives.

A gunshot suddenly went off, a bullet sailing inches over Shawn's shoulder. With a startled yelp, Shawn spun around, not realizing there was a box directly behind him. He fell backward, narrowly avoiding slamming his head into the edge of the table. He landed hard on his back, groaning. He cracked his eyes open, his headache doubling. He looked up at the underside of a table, ready pull himself back to his feet, but he froze. Something was taped to the bottom of the table top. His heart stuttered in his chest, realizing what it was.

Well,  _that_  could definitely change things.

Shawn grabbed the small object, carefully slipping it into his pocket, wondering if keeping  _that_ with him was the smartest idea…

 _Move_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind, forcing Shawn off the floor before he could even think about it. He scrambled to his feet, head throbbing painfully. There was a doorway in front of him, leading into a hallway, most likely back to the stairs. He ran, barely making it to the doorframe before pain exploded in his thigh.

He hadn't even heard the shot fire. The floor dropped out from underneath him, and Shawn hit the ground hard, biting down hard to keep from crying out. Blood poured from the wound, staining the floor and darkening his jeans. A hole had been ripped through the fabric. The pain was blinding, and Shawn clamped his mouth shut and groaned through his teeth. He shut his eyes, barely keeping another cry from escaping him.

"You're  _lucky_ ," hissed a gruff voice, and Shawn winced as Capone stopped next to him and lowered himself to Shawn's level. "The next time I shoot you," hissed Capone. "I will not miss."

"Well," gasped Shawn, cracking his eyes open, his breath incredibly short. "You… already missed… like twice—"

Harsh pressure suddenly clamped down on the wound in his leg, and Shawn cried out. He breathed hard, feeling himself tremble as the white-hot pain seared in his leg. "O—okay, okay!" He whispered quickly, forcing his eyes open. Capone's dead, black eyes stared into Shawn's, and he slowly released his grip on Shawn's leg. Shawn jerked away from him, panting. "N-not… necessary," he muttered. He looked back down at his leg, the pool of blood growing even wider beneath him.  _Thank god Gus isn't here…_

"Get up," spat Capone, but Shawn was still staring at the blood spreading across the floor. He felt a hand grasp his arm and yank him up, and Shawn yelped, falling against the table. He fought to stay on his feet, the world spinning quickly around him. He shut his eyes, trying to will his nausea away.

An agonizing grip on his arm snapped his eyes back open, and he was yanked forward. Shawn gasped as he reflexively put weight on his leg, making the wound burn even hotter. Shawn shut his eyes, the pain overwhelming him, making it hard to move, to think, to breathe.

"—stop your whining." Shawn opened his eyes, realizing Capone was speaking to him, but he hardly cared. The man was half-walking, half-dragging him out of the room, into a darkened hallway. Shawn tugged against the tight grip the man had on his arm, but Capone only shoved him forward, making Shawn put unwanted pressure on his injured leg. He gasped, stumbling. Capone grabbed him and held him upright as he dragged him toward a staircase. Shawn stared blearily at the stairs, kicking himself; he'd been  _one_  doorway away from finding the damned staircase.

Instead of taking a slow journey down the stairs, like Shawn would have liked, Capone held tight to him and didn't slow his pace. Shawn nearly tripped down them and groaned as weight inevitably aggravated the wound. He looked down, seeing the blood trail follow him. He shut his eyes, feeling a strong wave of vertigo strike him.

Capone shook him. "Stay awake."

Shawn cracked his eyes open. "How about you," he growled, yanking hard against Capone's grip on him, "let me  _go_." Shawn yanked harder, trying to loosen the grip, but Capone only increased his strength, and Shawn grimaced. He looked up, realizing they were approaching Henry's room.

Some rescue he was going to be.

Shawn's chest was rising and falling incredibly fast; he knew he wasn't far from passing out. He struggled in Capone's grip, trying to stop putting weight on his leg. He had to stop the bleeding.

Capone reached the door, and slipped in a key. He unlocked it and yanked open the door.

Henry was still in the chair, obviously no closer to escaping as he was when Shawn had spoken to him last. Henry whipped his head toward the door as it opened. He immediately paled as Capone dragged Shawn forward. Capone shoved Shawn less-than-gracefully, and Shawn let himself fall, hitting the ground hard. The spinning increased and he shut his eyes to make the world stop turning.

"Shawn!"

"A bullet in the leg is going to be the least of his worries," growled Capone, and Shawn forced his eyes open. He twisted around, wincing as pain seared in his leg. He tried to clear the blur of his vision, and made out Henry staring at him worriedly, muscles tense, deep-seated anger in his eyes.

"Long time… no see," Shawn managed, dragging himself up, using the wall for support. He leaned in the corner, letting the cold of the cement soothe some of the pain. Exhaustion crept up on him and he fought to keep his eyes open. He pressed a tentative hand to his leg, gingerly touching the area. But even that was enough to shoot another wave of agony through him. He gasped in pain, bracing himself against the wall.

Henry yanked hard against the rope binding him, eyes glowering with rage. He turned his glare to Capone. "You son of a—"

The gun was suddenly inches from his face, stopping Henry's words instantly. Henry narrowed his eyes at the man, but Shawn could see him slightly recoil back in the chair.

Capone shook his head and snarled, "That's  _it_. I've had enough of this." He cocked the gun.

"No!" growled Shawn, trying to push himself off the wall, but even that movement alone sent sharp pain through his leg. He cried out, unable to help himself.

" _Shawn_!"

"Shut _up_!" growled Capone, pressing the gun forcefully against Henry's head, shooting fear through Shawn's veins.

"Don't even think about it."

Every head turned toward the door; Hunt stood in the doorway, gun raised and aimed at Capone. His expression lacked the disgust and malice he'd had when Shawn first woke up to him. His face was blank; expressionless.

What the  _hell_ was going on?

"Don't even think about  _what_?" retorted Capone, not about to remove the gun from Henry's head. Shawn struggled to push himself up again, but it was no use; his leg simply couldn't handle any movement. He bit his tongue, shutting his eyes as he rode another wave of pain.

"You are not killing either of these men," said Hunt simply. Shawn cracked his eyes open; this was  _not_ the Hunt he met hours ago…

Capone glared at him. He narrowed his eyes further, demanding, "Who  _are_  you?"

Hunt didn't answer at first, and Capone dug the gun into Henry's head, making him wince. Shawn felt contempt flit weakly through him. Hunt sighed shortly then said, "My name is Agent James Hunt, I work for the FBI."

Shawn gaped.

_FBI?_

"What?" demanded Capone, anger deepening his tone.

"I'm working with the Santa Barbara Police Department," he said evenly, keeping his gun trained on Capone. "We've been after you for quite a while. And now you are under arrest."

Capone shook off his brief shock, and snorted. "I'm under  _arrest_?" He repeated with a snicker. "And how are you going to manage that?" Capone pressed the gun harder against Henry, making him grimace. "I'll refuse to go quietly, you'll shoot me, I'll shoot him," said Hunt, tapping the gun harshly against Henry. "Is that the brilliant plan you Feds came up with?"

"Put down your weapon," ordered Hunt, voice firm. "If you surrender now, we might be able to work out a deal—"

"Put down  _my_  weapon?" repeated Capone. He raised an eyebrow. "That is not how this works. And unless you want quite a mess to clean up, you will put down  _your_  weapon." He shoved Henry's head to the side with the gun, and Shawn felt hot anger bubble up within him.

"Put down the gun!" demanded Capone, his finger so tight around the gun his knuckles were white. Hunt shut his eyes, then bent down and placed his gun on the floor, kicking it to Capone.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Henry incredulously as Capone picked up Hunt's gun. "An officer never surrenders his weapon!"

"Is this really the time—" began Shawn, but Hunt cut him off.

"You're welcome," muttered Hunt, raising his hands as Capone aimed his gun at Hunt, and grinned, saying, "Well, this has been fun, gentlemen. But I really do have to get going, and life will be much harder if you three continue breathing."

He raised the gun and Hunt shut his eyes.

" _SBPD_!"

" _We have you surrounded_!"

Everyone froze; dozens of shouts sounded from the outside of the building.

The SBPD?

Footsteps pounded; half of the station must be outside. What was going on? When Shawn had gone to the station earlier that night, Juliet told him that the station had some big case to deal with—

Shawn shut his eyes, realization washing over him instantly; he'd been wrong earlier. The SBPD  _had_ done something about this arms dealership. They  _had_ set up a plan to take it down. But unfortunately…

That plan was happening right now.

And it just turned into a hostage situation.


	8. Chapter 8

Capone reacted first.

He whipped his head toward the window as the shouts grew louder. With a furious growl, he exclaimed, "You've got to be  _kidding_  me!" The cold muzzle of the gun was suddenly lifted from his temple and Henry sighed internally, relief washing over him. His heart still slammed in his chest, his mind whirring in confusion as the SBPD continued to announce their presence outside. But Henry didn't care about the shouts, he didn't care about the two men arguing in front of him, he didn't care about anything.

Nothing except the growing pool of blood beneath his son's leg.

Shawn had propped himself up in the corner of the room. The bullet struck him in his right thigh. Crimson stained his faded jeans and his hands, the sight twisting Henry's heart in his chest. Blood was slowly inching across the dusty floor underneath Shawn's leg. Henry yanked involuntary against the ropes binding his hands, desperate to help him. Shawn's eyes were shut and his face pale; Henry didn't even know if Shawn was conscious.

"You called them?" demanded Capone, turning the gun to Hunt, who raised his hands again and backed away a few more inches. "You son of a—"

"Look," hissed Hunt. "If you surrender now—"

"Ha!" snorted Capone darkly. " _That_ is never happening." He hesitated as the shouts sounded closer to the building. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then said, "All right,  _Agent_ Hunt. You're going outside and you will tell your friends out there to stand down  _now_ , or there will be two dead bodies for them to pick up tonight." The gun suddenly turned to Shawn, sending an icy chill down Henry's spine. But before he could say a word, Hunt spoke.

"Fine—all right!" he said quickly, eyeing the gun warily. "I'll get them to stand down!"

The gun didn't leave Shawn's direction as Capone said, "No funny business, Hunt. You know that I have a backup plan in place in case anything threatened me or this business." Henry watched Hunt pale slightly at the words.

_Backup plan?_

"You wouldn't—" began Hunt, but Capone cut him off.

"Make them stand down and there will be no need for such…  _events_ ," said Capone darkly. Henry watched Hunt tense at his words, and it made Henry's blood run cold.

What backup plan did Capone have?

And why did it terrify Hunt?

"Now, let's go." Capone prodded Hunt in the back with the gun and led him harshly out of the room. He gave Henry a last glare and said, "If you two try  _anything_ , the next bullet that kid gets will kill him."

Anger and fear slipped icily down Henry's spine and he felt his face twist into a glare. The door shut and the lock clicked in place. Questions still cascaded in his mind, but he didn't care. He  _couldn't_ care.

Not now.

"Shawn," said Henry urgently, whipping his head back toward his son. He yanked hard on the ropes binding him, but they were nowhere closer to loosening now than they were minutes ago. He growled aloud in frustration.

Shawn opened his eyes at the sound of his name, and Henry breathed a sigh of relief. "Shawn," whispered Henry. "Are—are you okay, son?"

Shawn blinked heavily; he looked exhausted. Henry felt another spurt of fear jump through him. Shawn shifted his position against the wall then grimaced and clenched his teeth. His fist twisted in his shirt above the wound. He gave Henry a tired, irritated look, misplaced strands of hair falling over his eyes. "Yeah... totally fine," he muttered dryly. Shawn took a breath, looking down at the blood with a twinge of nervousness in his eyes.

Concern swept fiercely through Henry and he yanked on the ropes again. Hot blood trickled down his own wrists. "Damn it, Shawn! I told you to get out of here, not get yourself shot!"

Shawn tore his gaze away from the still-spreading blood on the ground. His fist has loosened, leaving a patch of wrinkled material at the bottom of his shirt. He looked tiredly at Henry. "I think the words you were looking for," he said shallowly, wincing briefly at the pain. "W-were 'thanks, Shawn, for coming back in to  _save_ me—'"

"I didn't  _want_ you to come back in for me!" exclaimed Henry, fear increasing as Shawn suddenly lifted his free hand and pressed it gingerly on the wound. Shawn gasped sharply and tore his hand away, breathing hard. "O-okay," he whispered. "It'll probably… stop bleeding on its own… one day..."

Henry struggled hard against the ropes, watching Shawn's skin pale another shade as he tried to steady his breathing. "Damn it, Shawn!" Henry gave up his struggle, feeling utterly helpless.

"Maybe if you stopped blaming me for everything," said Shawn, opening his eyes angrily. "You'd remember… this is actually  _your_ fault."

Irritation overwhelmed his concern swiftly and Henry narrowed his eyes, biting back his anger. "How many times do I have to tell you  _this is not the time for_ —"

"This isn't the time?" asked Shawn darkly. "When is the time then?"

"Shawn!" exclaimed Henry angrily. "I don't need to explain myself to you! It was fifteen years ago! It doesn't even  _matter_ anymore!"

Something dark passed through Shawn's eyes. He set his jaw and said, "You're  _right_. Why should it matter to me that you don't even care!"

"Oh, my  _god_ , Shawn!" exclaimed Henry, anger finally too much to handle. He glared at Shawn, growling, "Fine, Shawn!  _FINE_! I lied to you! Big fricken deal!" Henry tore against the ropes in emphasis, ignoring as it cut into his skin. He locked his gaze onto Shawn's and growled, "This… this  _punishment_ you've been giving me for this has gone on long enough! I am  _sorry_  that I lied to you! I am  _sorry_ that I didn't tell you what really happened! But, damn it, Shawn—if you'd seen your face the day your mother left…" Henry shook his head, shutting his eyes. "Did you really think I wanted to tell you that she didn't want you? She didn't want to watch you grow up? She didn't want to be your damned  _mother_ anymore?" Henry felt his voice catch, the memory hitting him hard in the chest. He looked up, finding Shawn's eyes again, expecting Shawn to come back with some furious response, some contempt-ridden reply about how Henry failed as a father. But what he saw in Shawn's eyes was something entirely different.

It was  _pain_.

It was the same pain that Henry saw in Shawn's eyes the moment Maddie left, the moment Shawn realized his mother was leaving and wasn't coming back.

Henry shut his eyes as realization sank in. This entire time, Shawn hadn't been angry with  _him_.

This was about  _Maddie_.

Henry felt guilt hit him hard; Maddie had just told her  _son_  that she had never wanted him. That she  _chose_ to leave him.

How could Henry have not seen this sooner?

"Kid…" said Henry gently, but Shawn didn't meet his eyes. Henry opened his mouth to say something— _anything_ , but shouts from outside stopped him.

" _Stand down_!"

" _Weapons down! Stand down!"_

Henry and Shawn both looked toward the window; Hunt must have gotten outside to stop the cops.

"Great," muttered Shawn. Henry looked back toward him, half-thankful he was interrupted; this subject was one he had never even been comfortable  _thinking_ about. He shifted uncomfortably. He'd fix this; once he and Shawn got out of this mess, he'd find something to tell him.

Hopefully.

"This isn't good," muttered Henry, suddenly reminded of their reality as the officers continued to order each other to stand down. Memories from the police academy flashed through his mind; hostage situations almost never end well for the hostages. He sighed, knowing that odds were about to get even lower. "We're going to have get ourselves out of this mess."

Shawn nodded and gave him the ghost of a smile. "I was hoping you were… going to say that."

Henry set his jaw. "Why?"

Shawn smirked tiredly. "I have a plan. But… you're not going to like it."

Henry shut his eyes and sighed.

They were doomed.


	9. Chapter 9

Shawn shut his eyes, finally giving into the urge to close them. Exhaustion settled heavily on him. The pain in his leg had finally stopped throbbing, but it sustained a painful burn that didn't seem to want to fade. He let the coldness from the stone wall and floor attempt to calm the agony. His breathing was a bit quicker than usual—probably not a good sign.

Shawn was silently thankful that the shouts from outside diverted the conversation. Henry's words… Henry's blunt reminder that his mother simply  _abandoned_  him, she simply didn't care enough to be his  _mother_ anymore… Shawn had spent so long trying to shove the entire problem away from him, trying to blame the one person who'd actually listen enough to argue back, that he didn't know just how much Madeleine had hurt him. The discomfort he'd tried so hard to avoid quickly settled inside him. But… he was  _Shawn Spencer_. He wasn't supposed to...  _care_  this much.

About  _anything_.

Shawn shifted uncomfortably as another surge of pain ran through him, this one having nothing to do with the gunshot. Up until now, he hadn't even  _realized_  he'd been upset with his mother. But how couldn't he? Shawn sighed internally, feeling the weight of that conversation in the police station hit him like a tidal wave. Anger pricked in his veins. Did Madeleine really expect it to  _not_ have bothered him that she up and left?

" _I thought, of all people… you would be okay."_

Shawn shoved his mother's words from his mind and grimaced as the pain burned steadily in his thigh, competing with the emotional pain still swimming unwelcome in his veins. This was why he didn't do emotions. This was why he wanted to keep everything to  _himself_ and let the entire problem die somewhere in the deep depths of his mind.

This was why he left Santa Barbara ten years ago, determined to never look back.

 _She left,_ Shawn told himself firmly.  _Now get over it._ Shawn leaned back into the wall, feeling sleep tugging at him under the heavy weight of the situation and his own thoughts.

He  _was_ exhausted…

Five minutes of sleep probably wouldn't hurt...

"—awn!"

Shawn flinched at the voice, eyes cracking open. Henry's figure slowly blurred into view: he was staring at Shawn, Henry's own chest rising and falling quite fast. Shawn kneaded his eyebrows and mumbled, "What?"

"Don't pass out on me, Shawn," said Henry in a clipped, firm voice as he struggled against his restraints.

 _Pass out_? thought Shawn vaguely. Something finally broke through the haze in his mind. He opened his eyes wider and sat up against the wall, heart beating fast. He hadn't realized how close he'd been to unconsciousness.

"Uh—I wasn't… going to," lied Shawn, shaking himself. He looked back down at the wound; blood continued to spread in a pool underneath his leg, staining the already-grimy floor.

"Shawn, you haven't answered my question!" said Henry, and Shawn looked back at him in confusion.

"You asked me a question?" asked Shawn, and he watched something spark in his father's eyes. Something far too close to fear.

Henry sighed shortly and said, "I asked you what you meant by 'you have a plan?'" He hitched up an eyebrow, and said, "And why won't I like it?"

Shawn swallowed hard. He  _did_ have a plan. A pretty good plan, by his opinion. But he was sure that his father would veto it immediately. Shawn still felt the small object in his pocket. He nearly forgot that he took it from the underside of one of the tables, moments before he was shot. If this device mattered to Capone as much as Shawn knew it would, then the game had officially changed in his and Henry's favor.

Either that, or it would make things a few thousand times worse.

Knowing this  _plan_  of his was most likely the type of impulsive decisions Henry frowned upon, Shawn decided that Henry didn't quite need to know every little detail.

Yet.

Shawn forced a smile at Henry. "Look, we just have to… to get out of this room first." Shawn cast his eyes across the room, looking for any sign of a makeshift lock pick, but Capone had cleared the room out. Shawn sighed, looking back at Henry, who was struggling against the bindings around his wrists. Shawn felt his heart sink lower; finding something to pick the lock on the door was the least of their problems. He himself was stuck in the corner and Henry was tied to the chair with no means of escaping. It didn't even matter if the door was wide open at this point.

Though…

Shawn sighed heavily, a quiet solution slipping into his mind. Maybe  _Henry_  was tied, but… Shawn unfortunately wasn't.

He was going to have to move.

"Shawn?"

"What?" asked Shawn, realizing Henry must have been talking to him. Shawn looked briefly at the distance between his corner and the rusting chair Henry was in. Five feet. Shawn glanced hesitantly down at his injury again, swallowing hard.

"I  _said_ ," growled Henry in frustration as he fought the bindings. "Get out of the room and  _then_  what? I've witnessed your  _plans_ before, Shawn, and I don't—Shawn! What are you doing?"

Shawn let himself fall back to the wall, breathing heavily as the pain seared through his leg. The wound burned harshly, as if he'd lit a match beneath his skin. He grimaced, realizing he was going to have to take this journey  _much_ slower. Shawn snuck a look down, glad it was dim in the room; the dark pool of blood was almost sickening. But he'd done it. He moved.

And within the hour, he'd make it to the chair.

Shawn shoved himself across the floor again, using the wall, hard and cold at his back, for support. He heard Henry hiss his name again.

"Well," gasped Shawn, surprised at how out of breath he was so suddenly. He shifted another inch, barely keeping in a groan. "That… rope… isn't going to untie… itself."

"Shawn! Just—just stop, I'll find something to—Shawn!" exclaimed Henry as Shawn shifted again, this time far enough to anger the wound fiercely. Shawn let out a pained gasp.

"O-okay," whispered Shawn, leaning back into the wall. "No… no rushing," he mumbled. "Got it. Slow… slow and steady wins the… the marathon."

Henry breezed past Shawn's attempt at a joke, exclaiming, "Shawn, you don't have to—"

"Unless you can… can tell me you can get out of them yourself," said Shawn quietly, locking eyes with Henry. "A simple thank you… will suffice." Shawn took another breath and slid himself across the wall another inch. Henry reluctantly swallowed a retort and let Shawn continue to move himself across the wall in silence. Shawn managed to keep the rest of his journey nearly quiet, clamping his mouth firmly shut. He didn't need the concern in his father's eyes to deepen. The fact that it was even  _there_  was uncomfortable enough.

Shawn dragged himself slowly to the back of Henry's chair, and rested his gaze on Henry's wrists, swaying a bit without the wall to support him. Shawn hesitated at the sight; Henry's wrists were almost more torn up than his were.

"Ouch," commented Shawn, and Henry grunted in reply. Shawn eyed the blood-stained rope tied tightly around Henry's wrists. "Hunt really didn't have to… to be such a boy scout with these knots."

"Can you get it off?" asked Henry, twisting his head back, trying to catch a glimpse of the bindings himself, but the angle was impossible.

Shawn slowly fussed with the rope, trying to loosen the knot. It seemed just as tight as it had been when it was tied on his own wrists, the memory seeming to make his own rope-burns sting. He focused his waning energy on working the knot, and he felt Henry stiffen as Shawn tugged against the binding. It slowly loosened, making the knot inside Shawn's stomach seem to unclench with it.

"Almost got it," said Shawn through clenched teeth, his fumbling fingers pulling hard until the rope finally came free. It slipped from Henry's wrists and fell to the floor, making Henry gasp as it angered the torn skin.

Henry quickly stood from the chair, muttering a curse as he examined his wrists. Shawn leaned back against the wall, enjoying the coolness of the stone again. Shawn cracked his eyes open at a slight screeching sound as Henry dragged the chair out of the way and immediately bent down beside Shawn.

Henry's eyes fixed on the still-bleeding wound, and he sucked in a breath. "Damn it," he muttered, and Shawn followed his gaze. His jeans were damp and dark where the blood continued staining the fabric. A new, smaller pool of blood was forming on the floor, and Shawn couldn't help but notice the trail he'd left behind on his journey from the corner to the chair. Just seeing the amount seemed to make him feel even more lightheaded.

Henry hesitated, his hand an inch above the wound. He looked at Shawn, and Shawn knew exactly what he was going to say.

"Uh—" Shawn flinched away reflexively, grimacing as the movement jostled his leg. "Look, Dad, I don't—"

"We have to stop the bleeding, Shawn." said Henry firmly.

A thin line of fear slipped down Shawn's spine; if the wound hurt this much now, it was going to be agony with pressure on it. "Uh—no thanks."

"Shawn," said Henry, his fatherly tone entering his tone. "Don't be an idiot. Let me—"

"Nope," said Shawn, straightening against the wall.

"Shawn."

Shawn sighed, eyes finding the blood on the floor. He wasn't stupid; it was far too much blood to have lost already. "Fine," said Shawn shortly.

Henry looked briefly around, his gaze settling on Shawn's torso. He sighed and said, "We're going to have to use your shirt."

Shawn looked down at himself; he was wearing one of his navy button-down shirts. He felt his heart sink in his chest. He  _liked_ this shirt. Reluctantly, he sighed and slowly shrugged out of the shirt, trying his best not to jostle his leg. He was silently grateful that he was wearing a dark t-shirt underneath, already feeling the cool chill of the air. He slowly handed the wrinkled shirt to his father, bracing himself against the wall.

Henry carefully wrapped the shirt around Shawn's thigh, crossing the two ends a few inches above the wound. He hesitated as Shawn tensed his muscles and grasped a handful of his t-shirt in his hand, preparing himself. Giving his father a grim nod, Shawn shut his eyes as Henry pulled the knot tight.

A yell rose up in Shawn's throat, and he barely managed to cut it off, clamping his own hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. He groaned through his fingers as pain spread viciously in his leg, pressing his back further into the wall behind him. His heart hammered against his chest, and he vaguely heard Henry whispering his name, his hand gripping his shoulder.

"I—I know, kid," whispered Henry in a pained voice as Shawn breathed hard, pain overwhelming every muscle, every nerve. "I'm sorry, Shawn—"

" _I'm sorry, Shawn. But don't you ever think that I wanted to leave you."_

"Then why did you?" whispered Shawn, feeling all his pain hit him head-on. He kept his eyes shut, his muscles rigid.

"I had to, kid…" The grip tightened on Shawn's shoulder, and Shawn cracked he eyes open. He quickly blinked the subtle wetness from them, blaming it solely on the physical pain. He found Henry staring at him, concern full-fledged in his father's eyes. A concern Shawn hated seeing. From anyone.

Shawn took another breath, sneaking a look down at his leg. Henry had tied his shirt tightly around the wound. The pool of blood underneath his thigh had stopped growing, though the wound still stung harshly. Shawn's knuckles were white where he still grasped a fistful of his t-shirt, and he couldn't help noticing that his fingers were trembling.

"Are you okay?"

Shawn slowly nodded, fighting to even his breathing. The pain slowly began to dull back to an insistent burn. Henry kept a grip on Shawn's shoulder, watching as Shawn slowly unclenched his fist from his shirt.

Henry sighed, the concern still bright in his eyes, seeming thoroughly unconvinced at Shawn's response, but let the subject drop. Henry shifted his weight and cast his gaze across the room, saying, "Okay, now how the hell are we getting out of here?"

"The door." said Shawn simply, staring at his leg, afraid to move.

Henry's eyebrows kneaded. "Shawn, the door's locked. Do you have a lock pick set with you?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I thought I took those away after you broke all the locks in the house with them."

"Please," muttered Shawn, tearing his eyes away from his leg. "First… first of all, you obviously bought me the cheapest ones you could find that Christmas. But… I have a feeling… that door isn't as locked as we thought it was."

Henry's face twisted in confusion. "Shawn, what are you—"

"Just try it."

Skeptical, Henry let go of Shawn's shoulder, stood and approached the door. He grasped the handle and turned.

And the door opened wide.

Henry gaped at the doorway, whirling back around toward Shawn. "How the hell did you know that?"

Shawn slowly lifted two fingers to his head, in his trademark vision-pose.

"You're not psychic, Shawn!"

"Look at… at the lock," said Shawn, tiredly rolling his eyes.

Henry shifted his eyes back to the lock, where a lone nail stood in the keyhole. Shawn grinned slightly to himself; the makeshift lock pick he'd used had never been removed from the lock. Shawn had noticed it on his long, painful journey from the corner to the chair.

"How did you..?" began Henry, but he shook off the question. He slowly peered into the hallway, checking the coast. "Hallway's clear," said Henry, making his way back to Shawn. "All right, come on, we're finding an exit and getting—"

Shawn shook his head. "No, we have… have to find… Capone."

Henry tilted his head. "Who?"

"Oh—his nickname from the cops. Named after… Al Capone. You know… that guy who got away with everything—"

"I know who Al Capone is, Shawn."

"Well," continued Shawn, shifting his position. "We have to… find him first."

Henry blinked. "Shawn—he's trying to kill us!" he said slowly, as if he were trying to drill it into Shawn's head. Henry rubbed a hand over his face. "I still don't understand why the department even  _allows_ you to chase after these criminals! Shawn, this is the kind of stuff that will  _get you killed_."

Shawn glared at Henry, muttering, "It's good to know how much… faith you have in me. But… considering that Capone's backup plan… is a bomb, we should probably—"

"A  _what_?!" exclaimed Henry.

"A bomb," repeated Shawn slowly. "You know… they explode?"

"I know what a bomb is, Shawn!" growled Henry, face growing red in his rapidly fading patience.

"Then… then you know that he's got a perfect way of making… making all of his evidence disappear."

Henry's face paled the slightest bit. "And his witnesses."

Shawn straightened up against the wall. "Ergo, we should… should find him and stop him."

" _Ergo_?" repeated Henry incredulously, eyebrow hitching up.

"It means—"

" _I know what it means, Shawn_!" exclaimed Henry in frustration, hand gripping the door so tightly his knuckles were white. "If there's a bomb, that's only more reason we need to get the  _hell out of here_!" he growled, gesturing furiously toward the hallway. " _Not_  go find the man who wants to set the damn thing off!"

"If we leave," countered Shawn, sitting up higher against the wall, wincing slightly as his position angered the wound. "He'll set it off anyway! There's a crowd of officials out there in blast-radius, possibly including the chief, or Lassiter or Juli—"

"That's not our problem!"

Shawn's eyes flashed. "I can convince Capone to surrender to the cops—"

"Shawn!" exclaimed Henry angrily, stopping Shawn's words short. He huffed out a frustrated breath and growled, "This is  _serious_. Your and my safety is our number one priority, you hear me? You want to be a detective? Then stop trying to be a damned hero and let's get  _out of here_!"

Shawn and Henry glared at each other, anger pricking in Shawn's veins. Shawn had seen the stack of explosives on that table; if it went off, there could easily be casualties and even deaths of the officers outside. Hopefully Hunt had briefed them on Capone's plan and had gotten them to move to a safer distance, but that didn't guarantee anyone's safety. If Shawn and Henry simply found an exit and walked out, Capone would have nothing stopping him from setting off the bomb to divert from his escape. The best case scenario would be finding the bastard and forcing him to surrender.

And Shawn had a pretty solid plan on how to convince the man to do just that.

Shawn met Henry's eyes, knowing there was no way Henry would agree to his plan now. Shawn would just have to do what he always did when it came to convincing his father of anything.

Lie.

"Fine," snapped Shawn. "We'll  _leave_."

Henry held Shawn's gaze, the skepticism still lingering in Henry's eyes. The same skepticism that Henry had acquired since Shawn's childhood that has grown and matured over the years, making Henry distrust every other word his son told him. Henry set his jaw, drilling his gaze into Shawn's eyes. "I mean it, Shawn. We're finding an exit and leaving."

Shawn glared back. "I said _fine._ " he repeated firmly.

Henry hesitated a moment more, then looked out the doorway again. "All right," he said, turning back to Shawn. "Come on, I'll help you up—"

Shawn scrunched his nose in distaste. "No—I'm good," he said quickly. "I can… walk." No way he was taking the coward's way out. It was a minor gunshot wound, and as long as he didn't stand on it, touch it, or move it in any way, he would be fine.

Besides, if Henry was guiding him, how was Shawn going to lead him away from the exit and go find Capone instead?

Shawn pressed his back against the wall, trying to use it to help himself stand. He bent his good knee and pushed off the floor, but gravity was much stronger than he was at this point. He quickly crashed back to the ground and groaned as pain ricocheted through his leg.

"Shawn!" exclaimed Henry, frustration and worry coloring his tone. He rushed back to Shawn, grabbing his arm. "Hang on, kid, just let me—"

"Dad," groaned Shawn, shrugging off Henry's hand, eyes shut as his leg burned. "I've got it, okay?"

"No, you don't." said Henry firmly, making Shawn crack his eyes open again, his father's tone making him feel like he was ten-years-old again. Henry extended a hand toward Shawn and nodded curtly, waiting for Shawn to take it. Defeated, Shawn slowly took his father's arm, allowing Henry to pull him slowly to his feet. Henry wrapped an arm around Shawn's torso, holding him tightly as the sudden transition made Shawn sway unsteadily. Shawn kept all of his weight off his injured leg, though gravity itself seemed to be making it burn even steadier. Shawn grimaced, his grip around Henry tightening in response. Shawn quickly noticed that Henry's Hawaiian shirt was stained with his own blood, the sight making his stomach twist with discomfort.

"You okay?" asked Henry gruffly, as Shawn adjusted his grip around his father.

"Awesome," muttered Shawn through his teeth, briefly shutting his eyes as the room spun.

Henry started walking Shawn toward the door. Their pace was agonizingly slow, Shawn wincing with each step. Approaching the doorway, Henry asked, "Now, where's the closest exit?"

"Up the stairs," said Shawn, adjusting his grip on Henry as he stumbled.

Henry and Shawn continued down the hallway, every step increasing the burning in Shawn's thigh. He tried to keep up with Henry's pace, but even as slow as it was seemed too fast. Shawn stumbled again and Henry barely managed to keep him upright.

"Careful, Shawn!" whispered Henry, tightening his hold around his son. Shawn took ginger steps, half-walking, half-limping, toward the stairs at the end of the hallway. Shawn grunted as the pain stung harshly, feeling Henry's grip tighten on him.

Shawn still felt the device he'd taken from the table in his pocket, cold and heavy. His heart skipped, knowing that Henry would kill him if Shawn didn't run his plan by him first.

Though…

When has that ever stopped Shawn?

Shawn and Henry approached the stairs, and Shawn felt himself tense, preparing himself for the short upward journey. With slight hesitation, they took the few stairs one at a time, Shawn's leg throbbing painfully with each step. Shawn stopped halfway, gasping as it burned hotly.

"Come on, kid," urged Henry quietly, and Shawn let his father help half-walk, half-drag him up the rest of the stairs.

At the top, Henry let Shawn lean against the wall to rest. Shawn breathed hard, feeling heavy. Henry looked down the dimmed hallway in search of an exit. The door stood at the end of the hallway, right across from the doorway to the main room that Shawn had been chased through.

"There," said Henry quickly, relief clear in his tone. He wrapped an arm around Shawn's back again and picked up his pace, making Shawn struggle to keep up. He winced as added weight angered his injury.

A sudden, distant crashing sound stopped them both instantly. It had come from the main room. Shawn exchanged a glance with Henry and said, "Capone. He… he must be in there, getting things… ready... to escape."

Henry continued their walk toward the exit, right across from the doorway to the main room. "I don't care, Shawn, I just want to get you out of here and into an ambulance."

"If he sees us," hissed Shawn, trying to keep up with Henry's pace as he half-dragged him down the hallway. "He's going to set it off the moment he knows we're gone—"

"I don't care."

"Dad—"

Shawn and Henry approached the doorways. Henry let go of Shawn again, letting him lean against the wall as he went to get the door. Another crash sounded from the main room beside Shawn, startling him. Shawn peered his head around the doorway to the main room, glad most of his dizziness had subsided. Tables were overturned, weapon parts were scattered across the floor. Capone was on the far side of the first room, checking the bottom of one of the overturned tables. Shawn felt his heart hammer in his chest. Capone wasn't getting things together. He was  _looking_ for something.

And Shawn had a pretty good idea of what it was.

Taking a breath, Shawn pushed himself from the wall, and limped into the main room, the device tight in his hand, calling out, "Looking for this?"

Capone whirled around at the same moment Henry exclaimed, " _Shawn_!"

A gun was held loosely in Capone's hand and he quickly raised it, aiming at Shawn. Fury burned in the man's eyes as he pulled back the trigger.

"Careful," said Shawn, raising the device in his hand as he stepped further into the room, watching Capone pale at the sight of it. "I'd put down the gun, if I were you." said Shawn slowly. "You wouldn't want me to detonate the bomb for you."


	10. Chapter 10

" _Shawn!"_

Shawn flinched, the detonator held tight in his hand, the sound of his own name sending a chill down his spine. Henry had  _never_ used that tone before. It was devoid of any anger, any frustration, any irritation.

It was pure fear.

Capone's gun was aimed squarely at Shawn's chest, but his eyes were fixed on the detonator. Capone's mouth had dropped open slightly in shock. He hesitated, stunned, then demanded, "How the  _hell_ did you know about that?"

Shawn's eyes flicked to the device, then back to Capone, mind working quickly to find a response. "Uh—you and I were both there when Hunt told you I was  _psychic_ , right?"

Capone's eyes narrowed further in anger. "Give it to me."

Shawn looked from the device to Capone, and stubbornly said, "No."

"Shawn!"

Shawn snuck a look back at Henry, who was standing in the doorway to the room, chest heaving, face drained of color. He seemed at a loss for words.

Something shifted in the corner of Shawn's vision and he whipped back around. Capone lifted one of the tables he overturned and shoved it roughly out of his way. It hit the wall with a crash. Eyes narrowed dangerously, Capone took a step toward Shawn.

Shawn stumbled instinctively away, his back hitting the wall. He raised the device in front of him, warily eyeing Capone's gun. "Stop—stop right there," he demanded, slightly out of breath. Capone stopped where he was, eyes catching Shawn's grip on the device.

"What was your plan, really?" asked Capone, slipping the gun into the waistband of his jeans, casually crossing his arms. The movement pulled his suit jacket slightly back, revealing deep red across the white dress shirt, stained with Shawn's blood from their walk down the hallway. Shawn felt his stomach twist with discomfort and Capone's eyes burned into his. "You stroll in here with my detonator, and what?"

"You walk outside with us," said Shawn slowly, nodding toward the door. He winced as his leg throbbed painfully, shifting his weight and leaned further into the wall. He blinked away his lightheadedness, swallowing hard. "And surrender."

A sick smile crossed Capone's face, and he said, "Did you think that was going to work?"

Shawn lifted an eyebrow, gesturing with the detonator, as if it was obvious. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?" said Shawn slowly, voice hardening. "You come with us or boom goes the dynamite."

"It's c4."

"I've—"

"Shawn!"

Shawn sighed exasperatedly, not taking his eyes off Capone. "What?"

"He's a psychopath!" exclaimed Henry, his voice laced with desperate anger. "How many times do I have to tell you that psychos  _don't negotiate_?"

Shawn ignored him and glared at Capone. "Start walking."

Capone's smile grew. "I'm not going anywhere."

Shawn hesitated; he had expected Capone to cave instantly. Isn't that what people did when faced with imminent death? He had the power to blow them all into oblivion. If Capone didn't leave, Shawn would just threaten to pull the trigger and Capone would be forced to comply.

That is, if Capone believed he would actually  _do_ it.

Shawn shifted his stance, heart beating gradually faster as Capone burned his gaze into Shawn's eyes, his sick smile making Shawn's skin crawl.

"Okay," said Capone, nodding in mock understanding. "You seem to be a little new at this. Let me show you how it's done." He pulled out his gun again, making Shawn's heart triple in speed. Capone aimed it at Henry's chest.

Shawn's eyes widened, nearly dropping the device in surprise. "What—"

"Now," said Capone, the glare slipping seamlessly back into his features. "You give me the detonator, or I shoot your friend."

"What—no, no, no!" demanded Shawn angrily, knowing exactly what Capone was trying to do. Shawn's grip tightened on the device, his mind racing to keep the negotiations under his control. "You shoot him, I—I pull the trigger!"

"Shawn!" yelled Henry, in the fatherly tone he only ever used when Shawn was in deep trouble. Anger boiled under his skin, his own name sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

"Dad," exclaimed Shawn in irritation. "Just—"

" _Dad_?" repeated Capone with interest. Shawn glared at him as Capone drawled, "So, I guess I'll rephrase my earlier statement. You give me the detonator, or your  _father_  eats a bullet."

 _This is so not how this was supposed to go_ , thought Shawn nervously. He winced as his leg throbbed again, making him press even harder into the wall. There wasn't much here to keep him upright. He took a shallow breath and fought to find a new plan. He was smart, he'd been a detective for two years, trained as one for his entire life, surely he could think of  _something_ to fix this.

"Fine," said Shawn through clenched teeth. "I'll give you the detonator."

" _Shawn!_ "

Shawn ignored his father, watching satisfaction creep into Capone's eyes and his smile widened. "Smart boy."

"On one condition," snapped Shawn. Capone's eyes narrowed. Shawn cleared his throat and said, "You let my father go."

Capone leaned slowly back, eyeing Shawn, considering. He flicked his eyes toward Henry, then back to Shawn. "That is not how this works."

"Look," said Shawn sharply, done with playing the man's game. "You let him go, you still have me as a hostage. Unless you want us all to go up in flames," he said slowly, nodding to the device. "Let him go."

Held at gunpoint, Shawn knew Henry was biting his tongue on whatever he wanted to say. Shawn watched Capone in silence as the man considered, and finally nodded his head.

"Fine." said Capone slowly. "He can go. Then you give me the device."

Shawn sighed internally in relief, and said, "Dad, go."

"The hell I will!"

Shawn felt his own anger rise and he whipped roughly around and growled, "Dad, just  _go_! I can handle—"

"I don't care what you can handle, Shawn!" exclaimed Henry, face red with fury. "I am not  _leaving_ you here!"

Shawn glared at him, feeling his own desperation crawling into his tone. If he could get Henry out of the building, at least then one of them would make it out of this mess. His grip tightened on the device in frustration, and he growled, "Dad, either you leave or we all die!"

"Then we all die, Shawn!"

It was at that moment that Shawn realized he shouldn't have taken his eyes off Capone. Because before he knew it, something strong and hard struck him in the side and Capone tackled him to the ground. Shawn cried out in surprise as his back painfully struck the wall, shooting pain in his shoulder and head. His leg singed sharply as he landed on it, and Shawn cringed.

" _Shawn_!"

Shawn blinked his eyes open, seeing stars. He shook himself, pressing a hand to his aching head, when he realized something crucial.

His hand was  _empty._

He barely heard Henry scream his name as a deafening sound filled his ears and the bomb exploded.


	11. Chapter 11

_It was just a room._

_Henry sighed heavily, feeling himself lean against the doorframe. His eyes cast slowly across the bed, the nightstand, the window, the closet._

_Shawn's room._

_Henry's gaze lingered on the open door of the closet. It was nearly full, surprisingly neat. If he hadn't looked closely, he might have thought that Shawn's two-day disappearance was temporary, like all of his others. But it didn't take a well-trained detective to see that Shawn's jean jacket was missing. The slight gap within the clothes in the closet seemed to only mirror the darkening hole Henry's life had become._

_The deeper Henry observed Shawn's surprisingly-clean room, he realized it wasn't clean. It was organized. Sorted. As if his son had figured out what he wanted of his, and what he didn't need to come back for. And for some reason, it was the jacket that had hit Henry the hardest. The jacket that Madeleine had given Shawn, years ago, that Shawn never seemed to take off._

_The same jacket that Shawn hadn't touched since Madeleine left them._

_It had been nearly a year since she left. Henry himself had become numb somewhere along the line. He didn't try to find her; she didn't want him to. She made that clear._

_She didn't need him._

_And, apparently, neither did Shawn._

_Henry looked down at the uniform he wore. He'd just gotten home from work. He looked back at his son's room. A harsh pain snaked into his chest. For the first time since Madeleine left, Henry realized it: he had nothing left to fight for. No one left to save._

_Madeleine was gone._

_Shawn wasn't coming back._

_Henry was alone._

_The air in the room seemed to swelter._

_Henry felt the numbness he'd felt for so long heat his veins. He shut his eyes, trying to suppress it. Erase it._

" _Son—"_

" _Don't call me that. I'm not your son. Not anymore."_

_The temperature increased, suddenly hot._

_Very hot_.

Henry's eyes shot open. Some kind of powder fell into his face and he felt his eyes sting and water. Henry's chest was heaving, his mind racing to catch up to the present. His entire body ached. The air was sweltering. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face.

What  _happened_?

Henry grimaced as the pressure on his chest increased. He blinked his eyes back open, squinting into the pitch-darkness. Why the hell was it so dark?

Henry lifted a hand, but didn't feel himself move. He gritted his teeth, trying harder, when it finally dawned on him, sending an icy chill into his heated veins.

He was buried.

Heart slamming against his chest, making the pain throb harder, Henry fought to shove against whatever was lying on top of him. He pressed hard against the surface above him with his left arm—the only free appendage at the moment—and felt the object begin to shift off of him.

More dirt fell into his eyes and he shut them quickly, pushing harder. But it seemed that moving the pressure off his chest seemed to make it hurt even worse.

Henry held his breath, trying to ignore the shooting pain in his chest and abdomen. This wasn't the first time he'd felt this kind of pain; he could recognize broken ribs anywhere.

Henry kept shoving against the object, pain and confusion whirring in his mind.

Finally, the heavy object gave away and Henry shoved it to the side, squinting immediately as light burned into his vision and more dirt fell into his face. He gaped at the sight.

He was lying on the ground of a destroyed room. Flames licked at the still-standing walls and doorways of a building. Broken tables and debris lay everywhere, lighted in the firelight. The air was even hotter and thinner without the slab of wood shielding him from it.

Memories dawned instantly. He'd been standing by the door, but then Shawn—

_Shawn._

Heart tripling in rate, Henry whipped his pounding head around the room, searching for his son. His abdomen burned as he pulled himself off the ground, making him growl in pain.

"Shawn!"

His voice was barely a hoarse whisper. He coughed hard, soot coating his throat. His abdomen stung with every cough, making him fall roughly back to the ground.

He gritted his teeth, heart beating hard and fast in his chest. He pushed himself up, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his abdomen. He felt his back hit something hard, and he twisted around.

He was in front of the exit.

The sight of it seemed to breathe fresh air into his lungs. Henry reached quickly for the handle, but stopped short; if he got that door open, he would surely be pulled out by officers outside. They wouldn't go back into the building for Shawn; it was police protocol. If a building becomes too unstable, no one goes back inside until the fire department arrives.

And sometimes, not even then.

Breaking every rule in police procedure, to  _never_  search a burning building for a partner, Henry let go of the handle, turned away from his clear path to freedom and back to the room. He squinted as the heat burned his cheeks and eyes, the smoke slowly making its way into his chest. He coughed hard. Henry's eyes roamed over the debris, desperately searching for Shawn.

He wasn't about to abandon his son.

His eyes followed the broken tables, splintered wood littering the floor. A window above him suddenly shattered and Henry dove back down to the ground, showered with burning-hot shards of glass. He carelessly brushed them off, the glass cutting into his skin but he didn't care.

Pulling himself back to his hands and knees, chest heaving as he tried to breathe in the thin air, Henry crawled away from the door. He kept close to the floor, knowing he didn't have long before the smoke made its way down to his level.

Trying to recreate the room layout in his head, Henry searched for where Shawn had been standing. His memory wasn't nearly as good as his son's, but he'd trained himself fairly well in observation. He himself had been standing in front of the exit, directly across from the doorway that led to the main room. The wood of the doorway was charred, but it still stood fairly strong. Pulling his shirt back over his nose and mouth, Henry pulled himself roughly into the main room.

He seemed to have forgotten about his broken ribs until now, because the moment his knees hit the ground in the main room, pain ricocheted through his abdomen. Henry growled aloud, dropping his shirt collar and clutching his abdomen.

Clenching his teeth, Henry swallowed the pain and pulled himself back up. He could focus on his own problems once he found Shawn.

Following the mental layout of the room in his mind, Henry examined the room. Since this room and the doorway were still standing, for the most part, Henry knew the bomb was at least on the other side of the building. If he and Shawn had been still locked in the basement, they'd be goners for sure.

But Henry had survived. Shawn hadn't been too much closer to the blast than he had been. There was hope.

There had to be.

Henry squinted, dragging himself across the floor, the splintered floor scraping his knees. Flames continued to crawl up the walls surrounding him. The heat seemed to increase in this room, making his skin feel as if it, too, was on fire.

_Shawn was… he was over there… somewhere…_ thought Henry sluggishly, feeling himself become a bit heavier. The air was thinning as the smoke descended. He faltered, his arms nearly giving out. Henry took another breath, pulling himself up.

He needed to find his son.

Henry pulled himself across the floor, to where Shawn had been leaning against the wall.

_Here… he'd been standing right—_

There he was.

Shawn was lying on the ground, his face and chest visible from underneath a thrown table. The table had been broken off at the end, resting in two pieces. The half that wasn't pinning Shawn to the ground was already on fire. Shawn's eyes were shut, his face pale in the dim lighting. A deep gash drew a short line down from his hairline, blood dripping down the side of his face. Henry felt his heart beat furiously in his chest.  _No, no, no…_

"Shawn!" tried Henry, but his voice seemed to be blocked in his throat. He erupted in a coughing fit, cringing as it aggregated his ribs. Getting himself back under control, chest heaving, Henry pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth again. Henry kept low to the ground and moved as quick as his broken ribs allowed him.

Henry gripped Shawn's shoulder. Shawn's skin was incredibly hot. The blood dripped darkly down Shawn's face, hitting Henry's own hand. Fear seeping hotly through Henry's veins, he shook Shawn's shoulder hard, but Shawn didn't move.

"Shawn!" he tried again, barely coughing out a whisper.

Shawn didn't even flinch.

The air seemed to burn hotter. Henry uselessly pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth, grasping Shawn's shoulder again. He didn't respond to the touch. Panic bolted through Henry's veins. He shook his son again, desperate fear consuming him.

" _Shawn_!"

The smoke was lower now, blackening the air. The crackling as the flames ate through the building filled Henry's ears, feeling like a sick clock ticking down time. Heart slamming against his chest, Henry grasped the edge of the table, and shoved it forcefully to the side, trying to dig Shawn free. He ignored as the sharp wood cut into his fingers and shoved piece after piece away, until Shawn was free.

But Shawn still didn't move.

With fumbling fingers, Henry pressed against Shawn's neck, feeling hot tears brimming his eyes. His fingers were covered in blood; he couldn't feel any pulse beneath his own pain, throbbing in his fingertips. He cursed aloud and quickly grabbed Shawn under his arms, pulling his son up against him. Shawn was clearly unconscious.

_Unconscious,_ Henry repeated in his mind, as he began dragging Shawn backward, back to toward the exit.  _He's just… unconscious._

Henry's heart beat even faster in his chest, making the pain in his abdomen burn even hotter. He cringed as Shawn's weight added to the pain. He held tight to Shawn, dragging him back one bit at a time.

" _You didn't tell me you moved back."_

" _You didn't tell me you moved away."_

Henry coughed as the smoke descended lower. His entire body burned with pain and heat. He felt himself sway, knowing he couldn't hold onto his strength for too much longer. Shawn was heavy in his arms, showing no sign of moving. He was merely weight.

Dead weight.

" _No_." Henry told himself firmly, blinking away more hot tears. He dragged himself and Shawn back further, wondering if the door seemed to have moved  _further_ away, because  _damn it, it was getting hot in here._

" _Shawn, are you alright?_ "

" _Why do you care_?"

Another window shattered, making Henry flinch, startled. He kept his grip tight on Shawn as he turned back around, looking for the doorway.

" _Fix this! You owe me that much!"_

"I'm  _trying_ ," whispered Henry desperately, a tear falling down his cheek as Shawn felt a great deal heavier. Fear sinking deeper into his veins, Henry realized it wasn't Shawn's weight, it was Henry's  _strength_.

The door. Henry felt his vision flicker, but what he saw sent a spark of hope into his heated veins. He just had to make it to the door.

Three more feet.

Henry adjusted his grip around Shawn with the last of his strength. "Hang on, kid…" he whispered, trying to ignore the seemingly-still chest of his son. He felt another tear burn his cheek.

Henry dragged himself and Shawn harder, reaching the door. Heart hammering against his chest, Shawn leaning lifelessly against him, Henry reached his fumbling fingers toward the handle and twisted, shoving hard against the door.

It fell open and cold, fresh air struck him instantly. He pulled Shawn out of the doorway, lying him on the concrete. Henry's vision blurred together, seeing a mixture of blue and red lights, hearing disjointed footsteps pounding toward him. He looked back down toward Shawn. His eyes were still shut. He looked…

_He looked_ …

" _Shawn_ ," breathed Henry, trying to press a hand to his son's chest, but his hands wouldn't respond anymore. He felt himself fall, vision sinking into an indefinite blackness, and he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

The waiting room was silent.

Henry let out a heavy sigh, the swift movement of air seeming to anger his battered ribs even more.

It had been hours since he'd woken up in a hospital room. Hours since he refused to lie in a bed for a mild concussion and some measly cracked ribs. Hours since he was told that his son was in surgery, and still wasn't out.

Henry pressed his face into his hands, trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes.

" _He lost a great deal of blood, Mr. Spencer. We will do what we can. He's in good hands."_

Henry shut his eyes.  _Good hands_.

That didn't mean  _he'll be okay_ , and that's all Henry knew at the moment.

Henry sighed again, looking back up at the waiting room. The chair he was in was uncomfortable; the pain in his abdomen begged him to go back to the hospital bed and lie down. But he couldn't. He couldn't just lie and wait, wondering if his son was ever going to come home.

Not again.

_Henry shut the front door quietly, throwing his keys on the coffee table. The refrigerator hummed softly in the background, but other than that, the house was silent._

_Empty._

_Henry sat numbly on the couch, staring at nothing. Shawn had left two months ago. Henry hadn't let it bother him; tried not to. Shawn was a flake. An immature, reckless flake. Henry doubted Shawn would last a_ day _on his own. He'd come running back any day now._

_Any day._

_Somewhere, somewhere deep down, Henry knew he was wrong. But holding on to that sliver of hope, that small glimpse of light in his otherwise darkened world, seemed to keep him moving._

_But it's been two months. Henry shut his eyes, rubbing his temple, hating the silence. When Henry usually got home from the station, he'd walk in on some old 1980's rerun of a movie playing. It seemed to always be on the background when Madeleine was home. Or the stupid, over-loud stereo in Shawn's room that he blasted, drowning out Henry's thoughts. Henry hated all the noise. And he wasn't afraid to tell them that._

_Henry fingered the tv remote, staring at the blank screen of the television. How much he wished he had to listen to that noise now._

_Henry turned on the television, an old movie playing. It was left on the same movie station he'd put on yesterday. He shut his eyes, hearing it, but not listening._

_Madeleine left._

_Shawn was gone._

_And neither of them were coming back._

Exhaustion and pain seemed enough to numb him from the inside. Minutes ticked slowly by, each dragging on like a knife in his chest.

Henry clenched his teeth, guilt sinking deep into his veins. Millions of thoughts, a blur of feelings, every last bottled-up emotion he'd kept hidden somewhere within himself seemed to come tumbling out like rushing water breaking through a dam. He shut his eyes, the guilt burning hotly through him.

 _How could I let this happen_?

Henry had spent his entire  _life_  trying to protect his son. From the moment Shawn was born, that kid, that  _stubborn_  kid, became his only priority. Henry stayed up late nights worrying when Shawn didn't come home on time. He pulled Shawn aside day after day, trying to fuel him with lessons and knowledge that he would need to survive. Henry took advantage of that photographic memory of Shawn's and did his best to train his son to handle  _anything_. But, as Henry learned one day, fifteen years ago… No one was built to withstand  _everything_.

Not when someone you love betrays you.

It was stupid. It was damn  _stupid_  of him to even feel like he could try again with Madeleine. Henry laughed humorlessly to himself. Only days ago, he pulled out his old suit to impress the woman he begged to stay. He'dgone to hours of therapy to keep. The woman he pleaded to just keep in  _touch_  with her son.

And still, she left.

Henry clenched his hands into fists, angering the bandaged rope burns on his wrists. He'd been trying so hard to get her attention, that seeing Hunt—for whatever reason—giving her notice sent his blood boiling.

He didn't mean for Shawn to get involved in something like this; he didn't know it was dangerous. He thought the guy simply wasn't worthy of Madeline. And with the air between him and Shawn thick, he wanted to break the ice with a favor. Henry choked another, nearly-hysteric laugh. He broke the ice between them, for sure. Kicked a damn hole through it.

Henry rubbed his face, looking blearily at the waiting room, the white walls and floor blurring together in his eyes.

" _I left her, Shawn. It's over. Done."_

Henry sighed. He never meant for Shawn to find out. He never  _wanted_  Shawn to find out that he lied. But if Henry  _hadn't_  lied, if he'd just told Shawn the truth from the beginning… Maybe things would have been different. Maybe Henry wouldn't have missed out on ten years of his son's life.

Henry shut his eyes, rubbing his temples, guilt tugging at him sharply. Sure, Shawn might have stayed around for a while. But it didn't mean that Shawn would have stopped hating him. There was a friction in their relationship that wouldn't have gone away just for that.

" _Dad, either you leave, or we all die!"_

" _Then we all die, Shawn!"_

Henry blinked; Shawn  _had_  tried to save him last night. More than once. Regardless of how stupid his son was, throwing himself recklessly into danger… Shawn's intentions were good. Almost… heroic. And last night, Shawn did it for  _him_.

Maybe Shawn didn't hate him quite as much as Henry thought after all.

" _Did you really think I wanted to tell you she didn't want you? Didn't want to watch you grow up? That she didn't want to be your damned mother anymore?"_

He hadn't meant to say it. He'd never wanted to say it. That look in Shawn's eyes, that pure, dark  _pain_... Henry clenched his fists until it hurt. He  _saw_  that pain in Shawn's eyes. His son was hurting, more than Henry had ever known. And what did Henry have to say for it?

Nothing.

Not a  _damned_  thing.

And now he might never get the chance.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter!
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you who have read and especially to those who took the time to review! Thank you thank you thank you!! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the end~
> 
> cosette141

_2001_

" _Son—"_

" _Don't call me that."_

_Shawn grasped his drawstring bag tighter. His footsteps echoed loudly off the pavement. He took another turn, heading down the sidewalk. Dull anger coursed through him, numbing him with every step he took._

" _You're not my father."_

 _A father doesn't drive his wife out of his family. A_ father _doesn't take his son's mother from him._

 _At least, not a_ good _father._

_Shawn's knuckles were white from his grip on the drawstrings. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes and hugged his jean jacket closer to him. Clouds rumbled over his head._

_Things had only gotten worse since Madeleine left. Shawn had never been the best-behaved in his childhood, but when his mother was around, he was. Probably not ever an entirely well-behaved child—it was still_ him _of course—but he didn't try to get away with much under his mother's watch. He didn't pull pranks, he didn't lie, he didn't cheat on Gus at board games._

_But she wasn't around much. She wasn't very involved in Shawn's life. She wasn't the one who caught him in his pranks, or found him causing trouble. Shawn barely saw her through much of his childhood. It was always Henry that Shawn seemed to get stuck with. Henry who picked him up from school when he'd get detention, Henry who'd catch him eating dessert before dinner, Henry who wouldn't let Shawn off the hook without a lecture or a lesson._

_After Madeleine left, Shawn had first shut himself in his room, or snuck out to stay with Gus, barely exchanging words with his father. Then he got more… reckless. He didn't care what he did and didn't care if he got caught. And that's when he was arrested._

_By his own father._

"Well, Shawn, you've got my attention. You stole a car, Shawn! What would your mother say—"

"Well, gee, I don't know. Can you get ahold of her new phone number?"

 _Shawn kicked a rock out of his way, ignoring the pain from the unexpected weight. Henry had driven her so far away that she didn't want to call her own_ son _. Well, that was fine. Because Shawn was on his way to the airport, determined to find her and leave his father behind. He didn't need, or want Henry in his life._

_He didn't want to see him ever again._

_Shawn kept walking, adjusting his grip. He felt the anger, the frustration, flood him. The numbness quickly turned into pain. He grimaced. He turned another corner, picking up his pace. His leg burned. Actually…_

_Everything burned._

The pain seemed to dully radiate everywhere. His mind felt thick and muddled, but something was tugging him out of unconsciousness. Somewhere in the distance, a faint beeping echoed. More sounds added to the first and he felt himself pulled even further out of the murky depths of his subconscious. But the quicker he rose toward the surface, the more pain seemed to burn through him.

Something finally clicked inside him, making the sounds around him louder, less of an echo. He cracked his eyes open. Light burned them. As his vision cleared, a small, white-walled room blurred together. A door stood across from him, open, facing a hallway.

 _Hospital_ , Shawn's mind supplied him. His forehead creased in confusion; what brought him to a  _hospital?_ The last thing he remembered, he was…

_His back hit the wall. The detonator he'd been clutching flew from his grip._

" _Shawn!_ "

Shawn blinked; he felt his heart thud in his chest. The bomb. He let that damned detonator go. The bomb had gone off with him and Henry inside.

 _Dad_.

Shawn jerked, head whipping toward the two empty chairs beside his bed. But the movement proved to be far too sudden as the room swam violently in his eyes. He fell back to the pillow, shutting his eyes to stop the spinning. His heart still beat wildly in his chest. His head burned.

Henry had been inside that building. That meant that he could have been, he could be…

Shawn's eyes snapped open again, and he pushed himself off the pillow. Muscles screamed and protested at his attempt but he ignored it. He had to find Henry. He had to find out if…

" _Dad, I don't need you."_

" _Too bad. I'm coming in whether you like it or not_."

Pain tore through his leg the moment he tried to move it. He fell back to the pillow a second time, clutching his thigh. He breathed hard through clenched teeth, forgetting he'd been shot. Something was beeping wildly next to him, and he sluggishly realized it was his heart monitor.

The door suddenly swung open, a doctor rushing in, obviously having heard the monitor. Seeing Shawn struggling back to an upright position, he rushed over to place a gentle hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Mr. Spencer, please! You need to rest—"

"My dad," managed Shawn. "Is he—"

"Shawn!"

Shawn looked back through the doorway; Henry came through with a cell phone in his hand. Shawn watched relief settle into his father's eyes. "Hey, kid."

The doctor checked the monitor and told Shawn, "Rest. You've put your body through a bit of trauma." He checked Shawn's vitals for a few moments, nodding to himself. "Please try to take it easy. If you need anything, just let us know."

Shawn let himself fall back against the pillow as the doctor left the room. He felt his own relief wash through him, seeing Henry still standing in the doorway.

"You okay, kid?" asked Henry, taking a seat next to him. His shirt was still stained deep red with blood. He was sitting almost hunched, as if he'd hurt himself. Which, Shawn realized, he must have. Soot mixed with the blood, and cuts scraped Henry's arms and face. Henry rubbed his eyes, obviously exhausted. Hurt, exhausted, but alive.

Henry fixed the blanket where Shawn had shoved it away. "Take it easy, kid. I know you don't like hospitals, but you're going to have to get used to this one for a few days."

"I…" began Shawn, his voice a bit raspy. "I didn't know if you were…" He let the unsaid word hang in the air, both men hearing it clearly. Shawn bit his lip, watching something dark settle into Henry's eyes.

"Yeah," said Henry softly. "For a while there, I didn't know if you were, either."

Shawn nodded, letting his gaze drift to a loose thread of fabric on the blanket.

" _Dad! Either you leave, or we all die!"_

" _Then we all die, Shawn!"_

Shawn shut his eyes, the entirety of the night feeling like a heavy weight on his chest. All those years. All those years he'd been wrong. He'd hated Henry over a  _lie._

Sure, Henry didn't have the best people skills. Or even rudimentary ones. His parenting style was aggressive, if anything. But he  _cared_. He cared enough to spend hours teaching Shawn to protect himself, to be there for him even when Shawn didn't want him to, and to let his son hate him just to preserve his relationship with his mother.

"I'm sorry," began Shawn hesitantly, not used to saying the two words very often. He avoided his father's eyes and fixed his back on the blanket, the words uncomfortable on his tongue. "I shouldn't have gone after Capone."

Henry didn't say anything for a moment. Shawn slowly met his father's eyes, expecting to see the flash of anger Henry usually had when faced with Shawn's stupid actions. Shawn bit his lip, waiting for the lecture to come.

But it didn't.

"You don't have to be sorry, kid," said Henry gently. He shifted his weight in the chair, seeming to try to choose his words. "You weren't the only one to… make a stupid decision to try to protect someone you care about." A smile tilted Henry's lips. "Even if it went horribly wrong."

" _I left her, Shawn. It's done."_

" _Shawn, I left_ him."

Shawn twisted the fabric of the blanket between his fingers.

" _Did you really want me to tell you that she didn't want you? That she didn't want to be your damned mother anymore?"_

"About… Mom," began Shawn hesitantly, addressing the abnormally large elephant in the room.

Henry shut his eyes. "I shouldn't have—"

"Thanks."

The word was barely above a whisper. Henry looked incredulously at his son. The discomfort in the pit of Shawn's stomach seemed to dissipate the smallest bit, but he was still more than happy to be interrupted.

"Spencer!" boomed Lassiter's voice from the hallway, every syllable of the name dropping with anger. Shawn looked quickly toward his father, the slightest spurt of fear jumping into his eyes.

"Close your eyes," ordered Henry quickly.

"There aren't any hats—"

"Just do it."

"Spencer," Shawn heard Lassiter growl, bursting into the room, two sets of footsteps following him. "You'd better tell me what the hell you were doing at my operation last night—"

"Carlton," stressed Juliet, trying to stop the detective. "We have the suspect in custody, the operation was a success, go a little easy on Shaw—"

"He blew up the building!" growled Lassiter. Shawn kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep, and heard Gus add, "Wha—are you kidding, Shawn?"

"Shh!" shushed Henry from Shawn's side. "He hasn't woken up yet, I'm sure your questions can wait until then!"

Shawn could practically feel the impatience radiating from the two men. "Fine," they huffed. He heard the door shut as they left.

" _We both know what happened, Mom. He left us. He left_ you _."_

Shawn kept his eyes shut, hearing Henry settle back into the chair beside him.

" _He's not exactly what I call hero material_."

Shawn felt the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin.

But he was.


End file.
